


Always and Forever

by kremlin, mariamuses



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:34:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kremlin/pseuds/kremlin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariamuses/pseuds/mariamuses
Summary: What if you’re always destined to find your soulmate? What if, in every life, you get to meet them, fall in love with them, live your new life with them, always under the same name? But what if you never remember it? Not their face, not how they loved you. Nothing. You just have this gut feeling…*this fic is a collab and each chapter of will be written by a different person





	1. 2500 BC — STONE AGE

**“** **There you are, I’ve been looking for you”** , said Rhysand Stone, the leader of the clan which had just settled besides Feyre Cooper’s one. She had seen him before, trading with the chief of her own clan, Tamlin, but he had never addressed her. Feyre looked up from the wheat she was reaping only to see him carrying a dead wolf over his shoulders. She stared at him wide-eyed until he came to a stop right in front of her, dropping the animal to her feet.

She scattered, backing away from it.

“What are you doing”, she hissed, frantically looking around for other people that might have seen the spectacle.

“Well, courting you, of course. I want you to mate with me”, answered Rhys with a smirk grazing his lips. Those full, luscious lips.

“SHHHH!” she said, looking around. “Someone might hear or see us… Why are you doing this? You already know Tamlin is trying to court me. He already got me olives and apples, and I ate them”, Feyre pointed out, irritation lacing her words. In each clan, the courting ritual was carried out in different ways, always bringing the female the fruits of the male’s work. If a reaper was courting a girl, he’d bring her what he had collected, and if it was a hunter, what he had killed.

“That, darling, doesn’t mean I can’t try to court you too. My obsidian spear and I caught a very large sack of meat for you, which, in your clan, is a rare thing to come by. I would have thought you would appreciate it, but if you don’t want it, I’ll bring it to my own. Besides, people already saw me,  _and_ two males courting a female is perfectly normal. Also-“

“Okay, okay, I’ll take it, but you have to go now. Tamlin can’t see you here”, rushed out Feyre.

“Why? What can a reaper do to me, a hunter?”, wondered Rhysand, a curious look on his face.

“Just… Go, okay? If you want to keep courting me, you  _need_ to go.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to tell me what about him makes you, all of you, so scared of him”, bargained Rhys.

“Deal. Now go!”

* * *

_A FEW WEEKS LATER_

“Did you think you could hide someone from another clan courting you without me finding out?!?!”, spit out Tamlin, whose face was nearing the color of heated metal. The irony wasn’t lost on Feyre, though. Almost melted metal could wound you as bad as cool metal would, but your blood would cauterize instantly, and even though you could live through it, the aftermath of it could be worse than death. That was life with Tamlin.

When Feyre discovered his true personality, she wanted to call off the courting, but having Rhys as a backup plan made her stretch it out until the very last minute, when they would announce their mating, so Tamlin didn’t get agressive for dismissing him without a visible reason.

But Tamlin had caught her. The next day was supposed to be the one when they told everyone, so Feyre had sneaked off her settlement to go into Rhys’, only turning around once, just in time for her face to collide with Tamlin’s palm.

Now he was grabbing her arm so hard, bruises were already sprouting in her skin.

“N-n-no! I was just- I…”, Feyre got out, panting heavily.

“Don’t try to deny it. You’ll just make it worse”, interrupted him.

“Make what worse? What are you gonna do?”, inquired Feyre as she was being pulled to the center of her clan, afraid of what was coming next. She was absolutely terrified of Tamlin’s unpredictable and erratic behavior when it came to women.

“Oh, Feyre, dear. You know what’s going to happen. You’ve agreed to it”, said Tamlin, venom lacing his words.

“I’ve agreed to nothing with you! You’re lying!”

“Oh no, my sweet rose, you’ve just got cold feet.”

“I don’t have… Wait. Cold feet? You think I’m mating with you? You know nothing, I will never in a million harvests do that”, defiantly spat back Feyre.

“Oh, but you will. In front of the whole clan. That way your courtship with that filthy hunter will end. And if you think you don’t want to do it, think better, because I will have your sisters murdered in cold blood if you don’t do this.”

* * *

When everyone finally gathered in the clan center, Tamlin spoke:

“Reapers! I’ve come today here to declare my mating to Feyre Cooper, daughter of my own clan. Because she has agreed to the claim I made on her, she will serve me in all I ask, and only a duel to the death with me, your clan leader, will make this future not come true. Any objections?” proclaimed Tamlin while circling Feyre, like a bird would its prey.

Only crickets’ sounds filled the silence for the next seconds, and then…

“I OBJECT!” shouted Rhys, who was panting from the run between the clan sites. He had been waiting for Feyre when the torches of the clan gathering had begun filling his view and he had gotten his weapon and sprinted there. “I, too, am courting Feyre Cooper, and we were supposed to meet tonight when your clan leader ignored your most sacred law of multiple courting, deciding to force her into submission and a life with him.”

“Lies!”, cried out Tamlin, enraged with the hunter’s appearance. The people started murmuring.

“They are not!”, contributed Feyre. Everyone turned their heads towards her. It was know that a woman shall not speak unless instructed to by a man, and her breaking that imposed silence made the awe spread through the crowds. “He threatened to kill my sisters if I didn’t mate with him, but tomorrow morning I was going to announce my decision of mating with Rhysand Stone, leader of the hunter’s clan.”

She freed herself from Tamlin’s claw on her arm and ran towards Rhys, planting a kiss on his lips as his arms sneaked around her waist.

“Tamlin, give up. Your courtship with her is over. Do so now and live to lead your own clan. Refuse and you’ll die by my spear, only to add your clan to mine, making it bigger”, explained Rhysand, trying to spare everyone from the killing this would unleash.

“Never. I already said it, only death will stop me from mating that silly girl over there, but I don’t think you’re going to beat me. I’m older and wiser.”

He picked up a spear, similar to Rhys’, from a member of his clan and prowled closer to where the pair stood.

Rhysand pulled Feyre away from him, kissing her softly and setting her apart from where the fight was going to develop. Then he said:

“Tamlin, please. I don’t want to kill you, but if you don’t give Feyre another choice, I’ll do it. Because she’s the light to my night, and that is something I have to cherish ‘till death do us part.”

“Are you scared, hunter boy?”

“For you, yes. Goodbye, goodman.” And then, Rhysand made his spear fly, with fast and godly-like precission.

Tamlin’s arm didn’t even lift his own spear when a twin to his weapon pierced his heart, taking his life away from the body.

With sadness in his eyes, the hunter addressed the reapers.

“From this moment on, you belong to the hunters’ clan. But I know how important reaping is for you, so you’ll keep doing what you know and there will be two clans no more, but a coalition, because we are stronger together. Any objections?”

Silence.

Then he turned, searching for the eyes who lit his whole life, only to find silver lining them.

Gently, he kissed the tears away and the path they had made, tilting Feyre’s chin up so their eyes could meet and asked:

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just- I’m happy he’s gone, and I can be with you”.

“Me too, Feyre darling. Me too. And welcome to the family. They can’t wait to meet you. Cassian, Azriel, Mor… everyone wants to meet the girl who came and reaped the hunter’s heart.”

* * *

That night, when they had mated and Feyre was asleep under the skins of Rhys’s bed, tucked in the safety of his arms, he couldn’t stop thanking the stars and realizing what this was.

**A gift.**

**All of it.**


	2. 800 BC — ANCIENT GREECE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fantastic fic was written by Jaclyn ( @wingsofanillyrian ) who has the most gorgeous Nessian fanfic ever. It was such a pleasure working with her and she was a delight to ask. I hope you like this as much as I do, and everyone go follow her if you don’t, she won’t disappoint!!!

**“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”**

Feyre whirled, finding exactly what she feared: the man that had been following her ever since she’d entered the market. She’d noticed him at the third stall she’d stopped at, always staying a few paces behind. Panic had welled within her chest, and she’d dropped her coin satchel. She’d hastily swept up the scattered silver and copper pieces, scurrying down an alley to take a shortcut home.

The shortcut had been a mistake. Inexplicably, the man had found her, even after she’d thought she had lost him in the bustling crowd.

The raven-haired stranger approached, remaining within the shadows of the building. They clung to him, seemingly swirling around his feet as if they heeded his every command. He wore robes of cloth woven from the midnight sky, sparkling with millions of stars. For a moment, Feyre wondered if he was Erebus incarnate; god of the night come to haunt her on earth.

She staggered back, fear widening her eyes.

“S-stay back!” she warned, cursing the way her voice wavered. “I’m to be wed to Lord Tamlin. You’ll stay away if you don’t wish to face his wrath!”

Tamlin was known throughout the city for his twisted black heart. He was cruel and unkind, yet he had found it within himself to love Feyre, a nobody from the slums. He’d taken her to his home, bathed her, fed her… He had been her savior once. Her father was over the moon about the arrangement; it meant more money for him to spend on drink.

The man chuckled, stepping into a wide swath of sunlight. “I do not wish you any harm,” he said, sweeping an arm before him. “I only wish to return what is yours.” He held out his hand, palm up. Three small silver coins lay cushioned in it, and she blanched.

They were stamped with Tamlin’s house crest. The familiar tang of fear rose in her throat.

Tamlin would hurt her if he found out she had been so careless and lost a few of his coins. She couldn’t go home, not without those coins. But she didn’t want to go anywhere near this strange man, either, for fear of the unknown. She tore her gaze from his hand to meet his stare and gasped.

For his eyes were no ordinary shade of brown or green, or even blue. Instead they were the most brilliant shade of violet she’d ever seen. Richer than the velvet robes of Dionysus, they swirled as he smiled at her amazement.

“Hello,” he purred, taking a chance and stepping forward. “My name is Rhysand.”

Feyre stood rooted to the spot, entranced by his eyes. He reached for the hand hanging limply at her side, closing her fingers around the coins. The man- Rhysand- was seemingly unaffected by her trance, and he smiled brilliantly.

“What is your name, darling?”

“You were following me,” she said dumbly, slipping the silver into the pocket of her simple linen dress, clenching her shaking hand into a loose fist. “Why?”

Rhysand tipped his head to the side, assessing her. It wasn’t a predatory movement like those she was used to with Tamlin, but one borne of curiosity and intrigue. “I saw you haggling with the butcher. You stood your ground, refusing to budge.” His lips twitched up in a smile, and Feyre couldn’t fight the heat creeping to her freckled cheeks.

“Your wit and resolve intrigued me,” he murmured, reaching a hand toward her face. Instinctively, she flinched away from the touch, and his beautiful eyes clouded with understanding. He withdrew the offending hand, taking half a step back to allow her space.

“Tamlin has laid hands on you, hasn’t he?” The words were barely above a whisper, nearly lost in the chaotic noise of the market behind them.

Refusing to answer, Feyre glanced down and sucked on a tooth. There had been a few nights, when Tamlin had come home drunk on red wine after a day on lawmaker’s hill, that he’d grabbed her arm a bit too roughly. She’d hidden the bruises from the concerned eyes of her father and sisters, not wanting them to be disappointed in her.

“You can have him jailed for that, you know.” Rhysand spoke softly, voice laced with concern. Feyre gave a barely perceptible nod, refusing to look up. His outstretched hand hedged into her vision, blurred by her tears.

“Let me walk you home.” When she shot him a fiery glare, he added, “I only wish to be a friend, Lady. Nothing more.”

Feyre wasn’t sure why she trusted Rhysand. She had only just met him; usually she struggled to trust anyone outside of her family, even after knowing them for years. And yet… Something pulled her to him. It was buried under years of weakness and defeat, but it was there, drawing her to him like a magnet.

She blew out a sharp breath. “My name is Feyre,” she said, gingerly placing her hand in his.

Rhysand smiled as he looped her arm through his. “Pleased to meet you, Feyre darling.”

* * *

_Two Years Later_

Feyre stood at the steps of Hera’s temple as her heart nearly beat out of her chest. Her palms were slick with a nervous sweat, and she wiped her hands on the folds of her elegant white dress. She glanced sidelong at her father, noting the happiness in his expression. The mesh of her bridal veil obscured her vision, but she could still see his watery smile.

“I’m so proud of you, daughter. I know that he will bring you great joy.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Feyre was glad that she and her father had patched things up. After her mother’s death, her father had become a drunkard. Every night he stared down at the bottom of another bottle, leaving Feyre and her sisters to fend for themselves.

Everything had changed when he’d nearly died in the Great War. He’d come back badly injured, but alive. He’d snapped during his time away, and made amends with each of his daughters.

“Thank you, father.” She gently squeezed his hand.

“Now go,” he said softly, “Marry your love.”

Gathering the skirts of her gown, she mounted the steps to the temple entrance. Though the ceremony took place after dark, the temple was brightly lit by the eternal flame it held within. Her footsteps echoed as she made her way across the marble floor towards the waiting figures.

The man with his back to her wore robes of deepest blue, the sacred color of marriage. Before the pit housing the eternal flame stood a priestess of Hera to oversee the ceremony. Her heart pounded to the beat of the drums as she approached, stopping to take her place next to her betrothed.

The priestess silenced the drums with a wave of her hand. The hood she wore hid her face, as was tradition. She turned to the dais next to her and picked up the gleaming steel blade. Her voice boomed through the antechamber as she addressed the couple and her fellows gathered in the shadows.

“Feyre of the hunt, I gift you this blade.” The priestess raised the blade above her head before passing it hilt-first into Feyre’s outstretched hand. “With it, you will signify the end of your purity by cutting the braid of your hair.”

Her hand shook as she raised the blade to the nape of her neck, gripping the long golden braid in her other hand. She wanted nothing more than to turn to her betrothed to find strength in his gaze, but tradition forbade it. She could not look at him until the veil was lifted, lest the union be cursed by the gods.

The corner of her mouth twitched in a smile. If the gods knew the truth about the power her betrothed commanded, they would be groveling at his feet.

With the twitch of her hand, she severed the braid. The priestess stepped aside as Feyre cast it into the flame, a breeze tickling her newly exposed neck. Without glancing his way, she placed her hand in her beloved’s.

Feyre was blessed to be marrying the one she loved. Most fathers forced their daughters into political marriages, made for wealth and alliances. But her father had believed in the gift of choice- allowing her to marry whomever she pleased.

 _As long as he makes you happy,_ he’d said.

And the man she’d chosen did. He made her feel like she was walking on air with each brush of his lips on her skin. He had taught her to love herself, despite her scars.

“Now the bride and groom will bathe in the sacred waters of Hera’s everlasting spring, and she will grant her blessing upon the union.” With a few more muttered prayers, the priestess descended the stairs, her disciples trailing out after her.

When they were alone, a deep, rumbly voice broke the silence. “Shall we?”

Even the two simple words sent sparks shuddering down her spine. The man who held her heart turned to her, grasping the veil and removing it. His knuckle brushed the underside of her chin, beaconing her to look at him. She gazed up to meet his vibrant eyes, which held nothing but love.

“Yes, Rhysand. We shall.”

* * *

_Ten Years Later_

“Oryn, hurry up! You’ll be late for your music lesson!”

“Coming mum!”

The patter of tiny feet on creaking wooden stairs reached Feyre’s ears and she smiled. A head of ebony hair rounded the corner, a toothy grin and wild violet eyes peering up at her.

“Good morning, mother,” he said, panting as if he’d ran all the way from Sparta. Feyre playfully rolled her eyes at her son as his father tutted from the doorway.

“Go on,” he said, jerking his chin towards the street, “Get a move on, young warrior.”

Oryn sighed dramatically and slumped his shoulders. Feyre knew what he’d say before he even opened his mouth.

“Do I haaaaave to?”

“Yes,” both parents said in unison. Their child frowned, but hoisted his instrument and started for the door. Feyre snagged his arm as he passed, crouching to kiss his unruly hair.

“You’ll rival Apollo’s skill one day, if you keep it up.”

A blush crept to Oryn’s cheeks at the praise. “Its not nice to taunt the gods, mother.”

“I think they’ll keep their distance.” Rhysand smiled at his little family, Feyre shooing their son out into the street. She sighed and leaned against her husband, one hand resting over his steadily beating heart as they watched their son hurry to his destination.

“Can I expect you home for dinner tonight,  _proedroi?”_ She gazed up at the soft angles of his jaw, basking in his beauty. They’d been married for ten years and she still hadn’t gotten used to it. Sensing her gaze, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“I’ll likely be at Pynx hill until after the sun sets,” he murmured, brushing her hair over a shoulder. It had grown long once more; she hadn’t cut it since the ceremony. Rhys’ lips trailed over her neck, causing her to giggle and squirm in his grasp.

“Rhys!” She squealed, swatting at his arm. “People are staring.”

Indeed, passersby and merchants alike had begun to ogle at the sight of their most famous Senate member embracing his wife.

“So?” His kisses continued down her shoulder, beginning to border on scandalous. “Let them stare. Let them all see how much I love my wife, my equal in every way.”

“You’ll be late too,” she said, turning in his arms to rest her head on his chest. “I’ll save you some dinner.”

He pressed a final kiss to her neck, flicking his tongue in a way that had her arching her neck. “Maybe we’ll get some time to ourselves after the little one goes to sleep.”

Feyre threw her head back and laughed wholeheartedly. “I’d like that very much, husband.”

“Looking forward to it,  _goddess.”_ His eyes gleamed with lust and love as he released her, stepping onto the street. Feyre stood on the porch, waving every time he turned around to catch her eye. Only when he was out of sight did she slip back inside, a permanent smile on her face.

Feyre knew she was one of the lucky ones. She lived with her husband and young son in a beautiful home in the city, where love reigned free and happiness flowed like rivers. Her marriage had been blessed by Hera to be joyous and fair, and she had a perfect little family to call her own.

**A gift.**

**All of it.**


	3. 450 BC — ANCIENT ROME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written by Maryam ( @the-bookish-soul ). She’s one of the nicest people in here, has a few fics and shares my absolute love for Azriel. Thanks for doing this!!

_**“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”** _

As violet eyes met blue ones. A connection clicked together which was ancient and unforgettable...

* * *

**_AD ASTRA PER ASPERA_ **

 

It was another starry night. Feyre Archeron just had another nightmare. She was sitting on the terrace where the cool tiles felt good on her hot skin. Ever since she…Feyre didn’t really want to think about it. Feyre looked back at the bed where her husband, Tamlin was sleeping and it didn’t surprise her but he deserved it after the war. She owned him so much. He saved her from Hyberns underground prison. Feyre loved him but her nightmares were getting worse and she needed someone to talk with.

Tamlin always promised to talk but he had just become king and was busy with the officials and meetings. It seemed like he never had time for her but at night he came just to...bed her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, hitting the tiles. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Being so broken that… Feyre had lost the will to paint. Her only sanctuary was the starry sky. It’s couldn’t be explained...that feeling she got when looking at the star, constellations which Feyre couldn’t name them but it gave her peace. Her head rested against the pillar as she wrapped her Palla over her shoulders. 

She needed to get out of this cage,getting up she nimbly walked to the closet and dug out her old tunic accented with silver. Feyre didn’t know if this would fit her anymore because she had lost a lot of weight, but it didn’t matter because she needed to to get out.

Rhysand felt disgusted with himself but he knew it was necessary. Amarantha, the Governor had threatened his family and she said that of Rhysand didn’t comply to her conditions, she would destroy everything thing he loved.

Her red hair was splayed on his chest and it made him feel… No, he promised himself that he wouldn’t degrade himself. Rhys always made himself think about Mor,Cassian, Azriel and Amren. Those were the people he was protecting and that girl oh so new to the palace. The king's wife, Feyre. Beauty wasn’t a word he would use to describe her. The first time he saw her it was when she was panting, and it reminded him that there was some peace that Feyre was able to paint. 

He would make the world a safe place for her even it cost him his life. But one of the reasons he was here was to take revenge from the King, Well the previous King who had slaughtered his sister, mother and father. Tamlin had helped him and now Rhys had his trust as the second in command of the kingdom. Not even Amarantha knew what he had planned for this kingdom and it’s king.

* * *

**_EGO AUTEM IBI, DOLENTES QUAEREBAMUS TE_ **

Feyre tightly gripped the palla around her head, hiding her face. The tunic was loose, and she had to tie a belt around it. She had removed her jewelry had all evidence that she was a royal. The guards didn’t bother to stop as tunics were worn by the people in the lower class. The maids were scurrying out dirty clothes and cleaning the floors of the courtyard which she hated because it was full of color while her life was just black and white, so lifeless. The only joy she got when she snuck out of the palace to see the marketplace. 

Feyre loved the hustle and bustle of the market. To be around people was a change of scene and it felt good. Vendors were screaming about sales and fresh fruit. She kept her face hidden beneath the palla but not seeing where she was going, bumped into someone:

 “I’m sorry, miss! It’ll wash out.” The man stuttered. 

Feyre didn’t pay attention as red paint dripped from her fingers. Here vision blurred as she remembered… killing them...innocent people...blood on her hands. Someone lifted her up to her feet,” There you are, I’ve been looking for you. I’ll take her back.” The man bowed deeply and went away. 

Feyre looked at him. Here standing in front of her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was cleaning the red paint of her hand with a handkerchief. Those eyes were familiar like she had seen them somewhere before. Still haunted by the colour red Feyre wasn’t able to speak. 

“Let’s get you back to the palace, Highness.” The stranger whispered. 

Rhys led Feyre back to the palace through the back entrance to keep her away from the attention. He took her back to her bedroom. Feyre was slowly coming out of her haze, “Who are you? Do I know you?” 

“What? No thank you?” Rhys smirked, “You should take a bath and hide that tunic. I’ll leave you now, highness.” 

Feyre wrapped her arms around herself. She could feel his tight grip and the bruises that formed,” Please, don’t tell him. I'm begging you.”

 “I won’t, you have my word.” Rhys said. She seemed so sacred and fragile. She was so thin it made Rhys heart ache. He would Tamlin pay for this. He’ll make sure of it. 

Feyre was sitting in the bathtub thinking about how her life had changed in the past few months. 

She had lived with her elder sisters, Nesta and Elain. They had been rich, wealthy and well read. But, one of their father’s ship sank, it was their downfall. They had been forced to move and Feyre was young when they moved to a small cottage. The elite class or as she knew them as ‘the friends who never came to their aid’ had shunned them. Nesta had always thought herself better than those who lived in that village. 

Most of the people were uneducated, including Elain was modest as always never really saying anything. Their mother had died of a disease and it had destroyed their father. Their Fathers leg was destroyed by some thugs whom he had not paid their money back. The only thing he was able to do was carve into wood. 

Feyre was so young when she had started stealing from the local market. She did it with such stealth that no one caught her. It was then one day that the Prince had decided to visit their village and he had caught her and had taken her to the palace.

Tamlin was talking with Amarantha about the tax policy while Feyre pushed her food around with her fork. She could still feel the paint on her hands. It felt like blood of those three… 

“Your majesty.” Rhys bowed low. “Ah, Rhysand good trip, I assume.” Tamlin said.

“It went well”, said Rhys sitting down on the opposite side of Feyre. “Highness, how are you?” 

Feyre looked up, “Well.” It was him the stranger who had helped get back to the palace, safely. She knew she had seen him somewhere. Feyre was surprised because this is the first time she had saw him in the palace. His blue-black hair shone in the firelight and his eyes resembled the night sky. 

“Aren’t you hungry, your highness?”  Rhysand asked.

Feyre was lost in her train of thought. Lucien, the emissary gave Feyre a slight push which jolted Feyre. “What did you say?” 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Rhys asked politely.

“No, I… I don't feel like eating, Excuse me.” Feyre got up and left the room and it seemed that only Rhys and Lucien noticed.

Bringing her to the palace was Tamlin’s only choice. She had tried to convince him that she won’t do it again but why would he believe her? A common thief. When she had told him it was for her family… Tamlin still didn’t listen. 

Feyre said she wanted to say goodbye to her family but Tamlin didn’t allow it and took her away saying that her family would be take care off. That had hurt Feyre’s heart, knowing that they wouldn’t need her to steal. They could go back to the elites and live happily. If removing her from the picture did that, so be it.

 Feyre didn’t like the palace because it was closed and felt like a cage. Lucien and she had become fast friends. He was the only one who treated her like she was a person and not a prisoner. She was put in a separate wing where no one usually came except the maid, Alis, who also became her friend.

 Tamlin had given her an art room where she could paint her worries away. She had seen him play the Fiddle and dancing with him had been wonderful and it made her fall in love with him.

 When he said ‘I love you’ it made her feel wanted, like someone in this world actually loved and cared about her. But it ended all too soon as war was coming and Feyre was ready to fight but Tamlin sent her back to her family’s estate. Somehow, Hybern had found where she lived and had captured her.

* * *

_**SENTIRE QUI NON PEPERCERIT**  _

It was Summer Solstice and the palace was busy in the preparation of the party. Feyre was sitting on the balcony looking down at the at gardeners. She missed her sisters. 

At least they acknowledged her, but here she wasn’t needed. “Feyre, darling…,” she looked up to see Rhysand, or as he liked to be called, Rhys. He sat down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She had become friends with her because he acknowledged her presence,” Nothing… I just miss my sisters. Tamlin won’t let me visit them. I was captured by Hybern and I haven't seen them since. And they haven’t contacted me to see if I’m alright.” 

“Maybe you could write a letter to tell them.” Rhys suggested.

 “I don’t… I can’t read or write.”

Rhys didn’t know what to say. He was in love with her that much he knew. “I can teach you, right now. If you like?”

 “Uhhh… I don’t know. What will…,” Rhys cut her of taking her hand in his. “You don’t belong to him.”

He helped Feyre get up and took her to the library. Rhys gave her a page,” Write the alphabets.”

Rhys taught her to write and read but the way he had taught her had annoyed Feyre. One of such sentences said: “ _Rhys is the best lover a female can get.”_  He came up behind her to say. “I can prove it. Right here on this table.”

She was scandalized and lightly slapped him. He chuckled and kissed her cheek which made her blush.

  _“Tamlin is here” Hybern said. Feyre eyes widened. “Please don’t... hurt him.” Feyre was so tired of fighting and… it was hard. She didn’t even bother to ask if Tamlin was really here._

_“I won’t hurt him, but you do something for me.” Feyre looked at him and in his hands were three daggers._

_“Kill those three people under the hood.”_

_“Are they innocent.” Feyre asked. “Oh they are but they opposed my rule.”_

_The first hood was taken off. She was tired as she looked at the face of innocence, as Feyre plunged the dagger in. Tears were falling down her cheeks as the second hood was taken of as she said, “Please don’t kill me”._

_Feyre whispered, “I’m sorry.” As she plunged in the dagger._

Rhys was trying to sleep but he heard a scream. It was Feyre. He quickly ran out to Feyre’s room. “Wake up, darling. You’re having a nightmare. Feyre!”

Feyre woke up and looked up at him. It was Rhys. His touch felt familiar.

“You’re the one.” She whispered.

Rhys looked at her. “The one who got me out of that prison.” Rhys sighed sitting on the bed, “Yes I was, but you’re in love with Tamlin. I let you believe it was him.”

 “Wait how do you know this was my room?” Feyre asked.

“My room is the one next to yours.” Rhys said.” You mean the one which is always locked?” He nodded. “I’m always away and I don’t get to use it much and also you know what Amarantha does with me.” Feyre felt for him as she stroked his cheek.

She couldn’t deny the attraction anymore and pulled Rhys in for a kiss. Sparks flew as Rhys pulled her up to a sitting position. Feyre wedding ring felt cold on his cheek and he backed away.

“I can’t...not when you’re with the King.”  


“Please! I... I just need a distraction. Please.”  


Rhys looked at her. He knew it was wrong, but he was falling in love with her. Amarantha warning came into mind. Rhys didn’t care if he got killed in this process but Feyre and his brothers… Kissing Feyre again made desire fill his body. “These walls are thin, so I suggest you be quiet.” He told her.  


Rhys smirked and gave her a wink.  


Amarantha was getting restless and was turning against Tamlin making decisions and implementing them without his consent.  Rhysand was still helping Feyre also training her in self-defense. She was a natural fighter and Cassian would absolutely love her. Feyre was falling in love with Rhys because he knew the real her the broken her and he never said anything.

Feyre had decided to visit Tamlin since they hadn’t talked in a long time. She knocked on his door. He was standing shirtless in the doorway. “Can I come in, Tam?”  


“Not right now, I’m busy Feyre.”  


Feyre swore as she heard a giggle. “Is someone in there with you?” She tried to go inside but Tamlin pushed her and said. “Later.” And slammed the door.  


There was an unusually quiet dinner and Rhys noticed that Feyre was eating well. After dinner Rhys was asked to go to Tamlin’s bed chambers. When he knocked on his door, he opened it only in a robe and Rhys swore he saw someone in his bed, maybe Feyre and it put a knife in his heart  


“Rhysand, I need you to take out the Governor, Amarantha. She has been getting in the way.”  


Rhys smiled darkly, finally something he wouldn’t regret. “Of course, your Majesty.”  


Later at night Rhysand was with Amarantha. She moaned on top of them and Rhys took this opportunity and turned the tables. Amarantha struggled against him but he had pressed her against himself. She had started scratching him with her nails. Rhys took out a dagger from beneath the pillows and plunged it in her heart. And nothing had never felt so satisfying.  


Feyre was pacing in the veranda thinking about what she had heard in Tamlin’s room. It hadn’t hurt as much as it should. Her husband who had promised to cherish her had cheated on her but she herself hadn’t exactly been faithful. Rhys had taught her to read and write and she could never thank him enough.

Amarantha had been killed tonight and it had spread like wildfire and frankly, Feyre was happy. She deserved it for whoring Rhys and taunting her at every step Feyre took.  


Rhys walked by her and she gave him a small smile. “I need to talk to you”, she said. He only grunted in response. “What’s wrong, Rhys?”  


“Nothing, it’s just… what do you need, darling.”  


“Does… does Tamlin have a mistress?” Feyre asked, “I need to know please, don’t lie.”  


“I’m not sure but I do remember him meeting someone when you were captured.”

Feyre was shocked and deflated. “Oh…” was her only answer.

“You don’t need him, Darling.” She started crying and Rhys hugged her.

“I gave up everything for that bastard and this is how he repays me.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Rhys said. She had calmed down and kissed Rhys. He groaned into the kiss but Rhys pulled back. “I want to but…But I can’t be your distraction anymore. My feelings are strong for you.”

Feyre thought she heard  _I don’t need you anymore_ and those words stung. “If everyone forgets about me like I am not needed anymore, then why should I be there for everyone? If my sisters don’t need me, Tamlin doesn’t need me, even you don’t need me. Why should I care? I hope all of you burn in Hell.”

As Rhys about to say something Feyre just walked away and he knew that he hadn’t meant that way but regretted it anyway.

* * *

_**QUI AUDIRE AD ASTRA**  _

Feyre hadn’t talked to Rhys in a week. Tamlin had left for a meeting at House Summer. There were seven houses: House Flouria, Tamlin’s House was the ruling house for many eras, House Summer, Tarquin was the leader. He was one of the only true friends Feyre had. House Fall, the one where Lucien was from. He had 7 older brother who had pushed him out for having a relationship with a lower-class girl. House winter, she only ever heard stories about how spectacular it was because of its diamonds and crystals. House Day, not much was known about it except the leader was old.

Last of all House Luna, Rhys house. He had told her all about it was always based on night. It was always thought to be the house of nightmares but Rhys had been trying to change that to show the beauty of his house. It was said that they ruled before house Flouria. 

“Feyre… do you want to join me. I’m going to Velaris where my house resides for a celebration.” He asked nervously. 

“What kind of celebration?” Feyre asked. “A tribute to the moon goddess, Diana. The celebration is called Starfall.” 

Feyre wanted to get away from the palace, “I’ll go but I’m still not talking to you.”

Rhys nodded. “Okay. Pack some tunics and Pallas.”

They had left through the back entrance. They both got their horses. Rhys’ being a black stallion and Feyre’s being a grey mare. It was a three-day trip to reach the place. All they knew that it would take a long while. They had to rest after a long journey, so they found an inn. It had also started raining and they quickly ran inside. Rhys had asked the manager for a room with two beds. The only place which was available was the attic. They went upstairs to see that there was only one bed. “I can sleep on the floor.” Rhys said. Feyre wanted to say no but she was still mad at him. Later Rhys went down and brought something to eat. They both ate in silence. One of the staff member of the inn brought up a mattress for Rhys to sleep on while Feyre got settled on the bed.

At night, when Feyre tried to sleep… she couldn’t. She looked down at Rhys. “Rhysand are you sleeping?” Rhys turned and looked at Feyre. “Are you talking to me?”

“Just come up here you, prick. I’m sorry if I treated you badly.” Feyre sighed. Rhys got up and kissed her brow. “It’s fine. I should apologize too. For giving you the wrong impression. I’ll always need you Feyre darling.” Once he got under the covers. Feyre snuggled into his chest. “I wanted to know what the marks on your chest mean.” Feyre said tracing them.

“These are the marks of my house. I don’t know their history though.”

“They’re beautiful. They make me want to paint again. You make me want to paint again.” Rhys kissed Feyre as she said that.

It took another day and a half to reach Velaris. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. Everyone looked happy here. Music wafted through the air and it was such a sweet melody.

“That’s the artist corner.” Rhys pointed towards a narrow alley full of color and Feyre was intrigued by it. As they were passing through people welcomed Rhys back and Rhys called them by their names. When they had reached the estate, which was more of a townhouse. A blond-haired woman rushed out and hugged him. “Nice to see you again too, Mor.” Mor-the blonde gave a bold smile. “Feyre meet my cousin, Morrigan.”

“Feyre. I love your name. Let’s go inside you must be tired of spending three whole days with my cousin.” Rhys rolled his eyes and went inside carrying the luggage. A tiny woman came up to him and said. “Glad you came back in one piece.”

“Well, What did you expect, Amren? A scar down my ass?”

“Feyre this is Amren, my second in command.” Amren shook her hands with Feyre. Rhys took her to a guest bedroom and got her settled in.

“If you need something just call me or Mor.” She nodded as Rhys closed the door.

Later than evening she had met Cassian, his commander and Azriel his spymaster. They were all a big family who loved each other and Feyre was jealous because she always wanted this.

The celebration was in three days and Rhys told Feyre that she could have basic training with Cassian. It had helped a lot with the tension and frustration that had gained up because of Tamlin.

Mor, Feyre had found out, came to live here because she had tarnished her reputation with Cassian so that she wouldn’t get married to Eris, Lucien’s brother. Her parents had disowned her and here she was. Cassian and Azriel were adopted by Rhys mother. All of them lived at the House of Wind which was a few miles away from the town house.

The celebration was about paying tribute to the Moon Goddess. Which meant that they would go to the temple of the goddess and pray to her for another blissful year. The same would be done on Winter Solstice and Rhys now knew it was her birthday that day. Nuala and Cerridwen helped her getting ready. This stola was made purely of gems which reminded her of the stars and she loved it. They tied a loose belt around her waist and she went to find Rhys.

Going to the temple with all of the people was a new experience for Feyre but it was exciting. The statue of Goddess was carved out of obsidian and it was beautiful. The priestess recited the prayer, and everyone repeated after her.

After the celebrations there was food and wine along with dancing. She had asked Rhys to dance with her. He looked handsome in his black tunic. “You look very beautiful tonight, Feyre.”

“Thank you.” Then silence. “I want you to know that I love you Feyre. Always have and always will.” Rhys said  


Feyre was known for being impulsive. “I love you too. Till the darkness burns out the stars.” She kissed him and his hands when into her brown blondish hair.  


They made love under the stars that night it before all could be settled with Tamlin. Feyre had to do one last thing.  


* * *

**_ET AIT SUNT SOMNIA_ **

Feyre took a deep breath and looked at Rhys as he nodded. Feyre knocked on the door. Elain opened the door and was surprised to see Feyre. “Is it really you? Feyre?” Elain eyes filled with tears as she hugged her little sister and Feyre was shocked by this affection. 

“We thought you had died. One morning we woke up and you weren’t there. Oh, I was so worried. Who’s your escort?” 

“Oh, that’s Rhysand. You can call him Rhys.” Feyre said. Rhys bowed as he entered the house with Feyre. The estate seemed the same but empty. 

“Elain who is…” Nesta stopped in her tracks. “Feyre…” Nesta ran to Feyre and hugged her tightly.

“Thank the almighty Jupiter you’re alright. I thought the worst when we didn’t find you in bed one morning.” Feyre, overwhelmed by this, also starting crying. Nesta and Elain pulled her in for a hug. At dinner Feyre had explained how she had been captured by Hybern, a neighboring enemy kingdom as leverage. Nesta and Elain listened intently as she told them the whole story. 

“And then I became Queen.”

“The nerve of that blonde king.” Nesta uttered.

“I’m fine now.” Feyre said.  

Now Feyre told her plan of escaping Tamlin. She would write to them when she got the chance and tell them where’d they meet. Nesta and Elain apologized to Feyre about how they treated her, and she forgave them and before they left, they hugged each other one more time.

 ****“Where have you been?” Tamlin screamed. “I come home and find that you are not here.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Oh, so you’re allowed to go anywhere but I’m not?”

Tamlin was angered by this,” Damn right! I’m the King and I command you to tell me where you’ve been.” Feyre seethed. “I’m a person. I go wherever I want whenever I want.” As she was about to leave he grabbed her arm and pulled Feyre to face him. She struggled against his grip. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“Tell me where you were.” His grip tightening. These walls were thin and she hoped that Rhys was in the next room. “SOMEONE HELP!” Feyre screamed but Tamlin covered her mouth with his hand. “I am your husband and you are mine. You listen to no one else but me.”

Still struggling against his grip, she searched all over his body and found that he had kept his legs spread. She kneed him where it would hurt the most. While he was busy, she ran out of the room.

Rhys had just come back from the market to buy some supplies when someone ran into him.

“Feyre! Come back here.”  

Rhys dropped all his supplies as Feyre looked at him. “No… Rhys you can’t kill him. Not here.”

“Have you seen that bruise? I can accept him ignoring you, but hurting you is way out of the question.”

“Ah, so my second in command and wife. How quaint.” Tamlin said looking at them. Feyre stood in front of Rhys. “You’re going to have to go through me to get Rhys.”

“Don’t you think I honestly don’t remember him. I killed his family! Oh, how his sister screamed for him when I slit her throat.” Tamlin laughed.

Rhys was angry and Feyre knew Tamlin had struck a nerve and soon she wouldn’t be able to control Rhys anymore. “Rhys, don’t listen to him. He’s lying.”

“Am I? I would love to tell him about I did to his sister before I killed her.”

“You monster.” Rhys said. He came up from behind Feyre and attacked Tamlin. Both swords clashed together. Feyre needed to distract Tamlin. She took off her wedding ring and threw it in Tamlin’s face, but her plan was short lived. Their swords still clashed together and Feyre still didn’t know what to do. Tamlin disarmed Rhys and he grabbed a shield but Rhys fell down and Tamlin lifted his sword in the air.

Rhys braced himself for the blow but he heard someone else gasp. Feyre fell down and looked at Rhys with dead eyes. She was still breathing. Rhys could save her. Rhys grabbed his sword and the only thing Feyre remembered was Rhys shouting some names and killing Tamlin.

* * *

**_VENI, VIDI, VICI._ **

Feyre opened her eyes as the sunlight stung her eyes. Her body was stiff all she remembered was Rhys killing Tamlin and being stabbed. She was aching all over and didn’t know where she was.

“Feyre! Thank god.” Rhys came and kissed her. She smiled. Rhys helped her sit up and gave her a glass of water. “I was so worried. I thought you’d never wake up.”

“All I remember is you killing Tamlin and me getting stabbed.”

“You stood in front of me and I can’t ever thank you enough. But you put your life at risk.” Rhys said.

“We’re even. You saved me from dying when no one even cared about me and what was happening to me.” Feyre said grimly, “Where are we? I don’t recognize this place.” Rhys answered. “We are at an inn. Just a couple of miles away from Velaris and also, I brought you to a healer. She was able to patch up your wounds but… did you know that you were pregnant?”

Feyre looked at him with wide eyes. “No, I didn’t. The baby didn’t survive?”

Rhys whispered, “No it didn’t. I’m sorry, Feyre. The healer tried her best.”

Feyre didn’t know how to feel.

“Well, we can’t do anything now can we.” Tears fell down her eyes. She put her own child at risk, a child she didn’t knew existed.

“It’ll be alright, darling.” Rhys hugged her, calming her. “We can try again for children again,if you want. Not that I’m saying that child was mine…”

“I’d like that but when I’m ready. I’m not...yet. Not when I have a lot of healing to do.” Rhys smiled and laughed. “I just got a letter from Mor. Your sisters and Lucien have reached our home safely.” He took out his mother’s ring and gave it to Feyre. It was beautiful like a constellation. She put it on her finger and pulled in Rhys for a kiss. This was bliss.

In this lifetime they had fought, loved and conquered their enemies as always. And now the story ends with those five words:

**“A Gift. All Of It.”**


	4. 1405 AD — MEDIEVAL ENGLAND

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This masterpiece was written by Linda ( @howtotameyourillyrian on Tumblr/ kremlin on AO3) and I couldn’t be happier about asking her. She was a delight and got to work so fast that she wrote like 12k words AND then proceeded to whip out this fantastic fic. She’s my fellow european and I love her fics so much I might die. Thank you for doing this Linda!!

_**1405, Thursday May 23, Rosewood Manor, Springshire** _

“ **There you are. I’ve been looking for you.** ”

Feyre stared at Rhysand, who had just entered her private chambers from the adjourned balcony, with wide eyes. How he had managed to scale the walls of the estate she was being held at all the way to her second story room, she couldn’t fathom.

She hadn’t realized she had been about to scream, not until Rhysand crossed the space between the window and her bed in two long strides and put a hand on her mouth to stifle whatever sound she’d intended to make.

“Hush darling. We don’t want to alert the guards,” he whispered.

When Feyre nodded, he removed his hand and cupped her cheek instead, tenderly brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. The gentle touch made Feyre realize she wasn’t dreaming, but Rhysand was really being in front of her.

Tears pooled in her eyes and she wanted to tell him just how much she had missed and feared for him, but a dark red stain on his arm distracted her. Feyre inhaled with a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re bleeding!” she whispered horrified and grabbed his arm to inspect the wound, making Rhysand wince.

“Just a flesh wound,” he said, trying to play it down, but Feyre wasn’t having it.

Pulling the torn fabric of his sleeve apart, she inspected the deep slash on his upper arm.

“And pray tell, how do you happen to come by this ‘flesh wound’, your Grace?” she hissed under her breath.

The constant worry and anguish of these past weeks were quickly turning into irritation, making her rather cross with him, although she had been wishing upon the stars every night for them to be allowed to meet again.

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, his hand coming up to cup her cheek again.

“Please don’t do this, don’t be formal. I don’t want to hear that title from your lips. Not when it’s just the two of us,” he murmured, softly touching her loose curls and tugging at them slightly.

Feyre bit her lip and tried to get her swirling emotions under control.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so… I missed you so much. I thought I’d never see you again.” She took a shuddering breath. “How did you find me?”

Rhysand huffed a little laugh. “Tamlin’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. We figured out where he held you shortly after he had taken you away from court. But it took some time to hash out a plan that would not only help us free you from his grubby hands, but would bring him down in the process.” Pulling away, Rhysand locked eyes with Feyre. “If this were only about you and me, Feyre, I would’ve eloped with you the first time you told me you returned my feelings. But this is bigger than us. Tamlin needs to fall. Publically. We need to prove he’s fraternizing with the enemy, planning Hybern’s invasion in Prythian.”

Feyre placed her hand over his. “So you’re telling me, the Duke of Night didn’t climb into a maiden’s bedchamber in the the middle of the night to steal his rival’s bride and rob her of her virtue, but to conspire with said maiden to bring about the Duke of Spring’s downfall, before she is to be wed to him in three days time?”

Rhysand’s looked at her guiltily. “Yes.”

Feyre returned his stare with a blank face, before she sighed and stood up, making for her washstand. She poured some fresh water into the washing bowl and picked it up together with a fresh linen towel before returning to the bed.

She noticed Rhysand looking at her, a hungry look flashing over his features, before he politely averted his eyes. It was only then that she remembered she was only wearing a thin linen shift that didn’t do much to hide her body. She was as good as naked.

Suddenly self-conscious, she pushed the bowl into Rhysand’s hands and quickly reached for her blanket to wrap herself with it.

They’d had their fair share of clandestine, forbidden kisses and their hands had explored the other’s body often enough to know the feel and shape of it, sometimes even slipping beneath their clothes. But those had been rushed, stolen moments, where the fear of being discovered had been pressing down on them. Now, they were alone and undisturbed for the first time ever. It was a strangely intimate setting - especially considering he sat on her bed and all that shielded her naked body from his eyes was the thin linen cloth and the blanket she now held wrapped around her.

With her heart beating frantically, she looked at her lover: the midnight hair, that fell in soft curls onto his collar and which she loved to bury her fingers in, the sharp jawline, that she had more than once run her lips over, his broad shoulders, that she liked to grip at when their kisses turned more heated that they should. The violet eyes with those little silver flecks that reminded her of the night sky and that she loved to lose herself in, but that he now kept averted from her.

“Take off your clothes,” Feyre said in a low voice.

Rhysand’s head whipped around and he looked at her, stunned. “Feyre, we shouldn’t!”

“No,” she interrupted softly, walking over to the corner of the room where the clock candle stood, picking it up and bringing it with her to the bed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, feeling the heat seep into her cheeks. “I want to have a look at your wound. You either take off your clothes - well, the top part of it - or I will have to cut off the sleeve. Your choice.”

Feyre placed the candle as close to the bed as she dared, so she would have enough light to inspect the wound, and then took the bowl from Rhysand’s hands, so he could take off his jerkin and shirt. The blanket she had draped around her shoulders slipped, but Feyre didn’t rearrange it. Instead she silently, but boldly watched Rhysand undress.

His eyes never left hers while he unlaced and shrugged off his jerking and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a toned torso and muscled arms. Feyre had never seen him without his shirt on and the sight made a sweet ache bloom in her stomach; an ache she usually only felt when they kissed or when he held her close, his strong body pressed against hers.

Rhysand shifted, presenting his injured arm to her. Careful not to hurt him, Feyre wetted the linen towel with water and started washing out the wound, trying to concentrate on the task instead of her lover’s naked torso in front of her.

“So, what do you need me to do?” she asked.

Rhysand explained the plan he and his trusted friends - his inner circle - had come up with and the part Feyre needed to play in it, while she dressed the wound. Rhysand held still for most of the procedure, but his shoulders were tense and he flinched ever so slightly, whenever her fingers brushed over his uninjured skin. Feyre didn’t have bandages, so she ripped out a piece of linen from her bed clothes, neatly wrapping up the gash in his arm.

Happy with her work, Feyre stood to put the washing bowl and the clock candle away. She’d need to burn the linen she’d used, but she could do it in the morning. It was red with Rhysand’s blood and her maids would get suspicious if they found bloody linen in her chambers. After all, it was not that time of the month.

When she returned to the bed, she didn’t sit down next to Rhyand, but instead stood before him. Feyre noticed how he tried very hard not to stare at her body, but instead looked into her eyes.

“So I am to be your huntress and thief?” she asked, stepping even closer and running a hand through his hair. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and he closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her fingers on his scalp. Rhysand immediately tore them open again, however, when Feyre slid onto his lap.

His broad, calloused hands came up to hold her by her waist and Feyre felt their heat seep through the thin linen of her shift. A different kind of heat started pooling low in her stomach.

“You, Feyre, are my salvation,” he breathed before he caught her lips with his and twisted around with Feyre in his arms, so he could lay her onto the bed and sink into the pillows with her, his lips never leaving hers.

* * *

_**1405, Sunday May 26, St. Amren’s Cathedral, Capital** _

“Gentle lords and ladies, we are here today to join Lord Tamlin, Duke of Spring, and the Lady Feyre Archeron together. They have asked you here to share in their joy, and to declare their love for one another before you as a community.”

Feyre was sweating nervously in her heavy, elaborate gown. She was tempted just to turn and run, but Tamlin held her hand in an iron grip. He had made sure she was never unattended, so she couldn’t espace last minute.

They stood in front of the church portal, the congregation, invited guests and curious onlookers, filling up the plaza behind them. Well, a wedding was a public occasion after all, and Tamlin had decided to have them wed in front of the biggest church in the capitol instead of the chapel in the King’s court or the one at his estate.

He’d wanted as many witnesses as possible for his wedding and he had gotten his wish.

Feyre heard jolly laughter and barely-restrained conversations from the huge crowd behind them. People were commenting on her dress, her hair, how handsome Lord Tamlin was and how lucky she was, being married to such a fine lord. If only they knew…

_Late, they were too damn late._

What was the elaborate plan Rhysand had laid out for her just 3 nights ago worth, if he and his didn’t see it through in the end? She was mere seconds away from being married.

“Your Grace, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?”

“Yes, Father,” Tamlin said loud enough to be heard over the murmur of the crowd. The bishop, who oversaw the ceremony, nodded graciously, and turned to Feyre.

“Lady Feyre, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?

“No.”

At her words, the crowd behind them cried out in shock and glee and Tamlin’s hand tightened painfully around her fingers, but Feyre didn’t look at him. She looked at the Bishop, who kept on talking.

“In as much as this Noble Lord and Lady have pledged their troth to be married this day, we call upon Heav -”

The bishop, not expecting her reply, had already droned on, before the realization of her answer settled over him.

Frowning, he turned to Feyre.

“Excuse me, Milady, but I don’t think I heard right. Let me ask again: art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?”

Tamlin growled and almost broke her fingers with how hard he squeezed them. Feyre blanched a bit at the pain, but straightened her shoulders and repeated, louder this time “No, I am not, Father.”

“Yes, she is,” Tamlin barked. “Continue,” he commanded the bishop.

“Your Grace, the marriage is not valid if not both of you consent to it. If the lady does not consent, I’m afraid, there’s nothing we can do,” the bishop said, his mouth set into a grim line.

Tamlin wirled on Feyre. “Milady, I must ask you politely not to embarrass me any further. Consent and we’ll be done with it.”

Feyre glared up at him and tried to free her hand, but his grip was resolute.

“I. shall. NOT! And now let go of my hand, you’re hurting me,” she snarled, finally freeing her hand with a sharp tug.

The crowd behind them started yelling and frothing.

“You heard the lady!

“She did not give consent.”

“Someone hold him.”

Feyre couldn’t help smiling a little smug smile. If the wedding had taken place in a more intimate setting, she might not have been able to deny him, especially because he was her legal guardian. He could’ve made her consent by force, or simply declared them wed. But in front of the nosy masses of nobles, courtiers and commoners alike, witnessing her withholding consent, there was nothing Tamlin could do.

And then finally, Feyre heard what she’d been longing to hear ever since she’d been dragged in front of the church’s portal: the heavy clopping of hooves on cobblestone.

Four rider’s tore onto the plaza. People were shrieking and cursing at them as they jumped out of the horses way. Knee-buckling relief coursed through Feyre as she took in the emblem on their coats: it was the King’s personal guard.

“Your Grace, we arrest you in the name of the King,” one of them said, a tall man with silver hair. _Lord Varian, cousin to the Duke of Summer_ , Feyre remembered.

“Under what charges?” Tamlin demanded to know, his voice eerily calm.

He had placed himself between the men and Feyre, as if to guard her. Little did he know that it was her that had delivered the killing blow.

After Rhysand had snuck out at the crack of dawn, leaving her behind with bruised lips and - much to her chagrin - her virginity intact, she had spent the last 3 days gathering incriminating evidence against her guardian and betrothed, the Duke of Spring. Evidence that proved just how deeply entangled he was in the schemes of the enemy King Hybern.

She didn’t find much in the little estate he had locked her away at to keep her from eloping with Rhysand, his bitter rival, but 2 days ago, when they had returned to court in preparation for their wedding, she’d snuck into his rooms and searched his belongings until she’d found a whole stack of letters, whose contents had left her pale and shaking with rage. She had handed them over to one of Rhysand’s agents just this morning, hoping he would make it in time to convince the King to take measures against Tamlin and prevent the marriage from happening.

Suddenly, a hand grasped her by the elbow and Feyre whirled around, her fist already raised to defend herself, until she glimpsed a well known smirk and violet eyes sparkling under the low-hanging hood. Feyre returned the smile and let herself be pulled away by Rhysand. With a Duke of the kingdom being arrested for treason and the crowd going wild, no one noticed their escape.

Rhysand led her away from the church, towards the entrance of a small alley, where he immediately crushed her to his chest.

“Feyre.” He said nothing else but this, over and over again. “Feyre, Feyre.”

Feyre wrapped her arms around him in response and breathed him in. “You’re late,” she chided softly, hitting his back with her fists.

Rhysand accepted his punishment with a laugh and kissed her forehead. “I am sorry, darling, the King took some more convincing than I thought. After all, he does love Tamlin dearly. Or well, he did. But he also seemed to be quite worried about you,” he added with a smirk.

“Oh?” Feyre said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Yes. Now that your guardian has been arrested and will be charged with treason, his lands and titles are forfeit and fall back to the crown. This would’ve included the landholdings and estates that you’ve inherited from your father as well, if you’d married him. Thank god we could convince him to arrest Tamlin immediately. And in case you were already married by the time the guards appeared, the King would’ve declared the marriage void to protect your inheritance.”

“Right,” Feyre scoffed. “My enormous inheritance, that must be protected at all costs. If only my inheritance was in danger earlier, so the King would have actually listened to me when I begged him not to allow the marriage between me and my guardian.”  

“Only, now that your guardian is arrested, you are left without one, and we can’t have that, can we? An unmarried woman alone without a male relative to protect and care for her? So the King will declare himself your guardian until you are safely married to an eligible suitor.”

Rhysand’s eyes were dancing with mischief. Feyre wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him closer.

“So it seems I should look for a husband as soon as possible,” she mused, knitting her brows together as if she had to think hard about eligible suitors of her stations she could choose from.

“Yes,” Rhysand confirmed, looking bemused.

“Since I was just seconds away from becoming a Duchess, I won’t settle for less,” she declared haughtily.

Rhys nodded enthusiastically. “Naturally. I wouldn’t expect less from the richest heiress in the kingdom.”

Feyre angled her head. “Pray tell, Milord, but YOU are a Duke, are you not?” she asked coyly.

Rhysand pulled her even closer, brushing his lips over her cheek. “That I am, Milady. And guess what -  contrary to a certain someone, I wouldn’t be marrying you for your money, but for yourself.”

Feyre giggled and glanced over Rhys shoulder towards the church portal, where a visibly confused bishop was still standing, watching as the King’s Guard led Tamlin away.

“As it happens, there is a priest right over there, already paid and eager to perform a wedding today,” Feyre suggested with a sly smile. “And I’m already conveniently dressed for a wedding, too.”

“Oh?” Rhys said, imitating Feyre and cocking an eyebrow at her.

“I’d be a shame to waste the opportunity and the money already paid,” she breathed, raising herself on her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You could say… it’s **a gift. All of it.** ”


	5. 1650 AD — GOLDEN AGE OF PIRACY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I decided to do this I KNEW I had to ask Cas ( @highlady-cas ) to do this with me because she’s the first person I ever read a fic from. But you guys know that, because her skating AUs are spectacular and I was SO pumped when she agreed I almost collapsed. Thank you so much for doing this!!!

**“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”**

Feyre glanced up at the man before her. He stared down at her, violet eyes all but glowing in the dim lighting of the brig. He stood with his hands in his pockets, sword strapped to one side and a pistol on the other. He looked completely at ease, typical smirk becoming softer as he met her gaze, dark locks falling in his eyes.

The sight cause Feyre’s heart to jump in her chest, the ship swaying underneath them.

“Clearly not hard enough.” She tried to keep a teasing tone to her voice, but it was hard. She had been trapped by herself for days now. It was cold and dark and she had to spend most of the time curled in the corner. Even the devilishly handsome pirate before her hadn’t been able to visit her lately. “Not like I’d be anywhere else.”

Feyre pulled her legs to her chest, trying to provide herself with some warmth as the man kept his gaze on her. His eyes softened. He took a step towards her, hand flexing at his side. As if he wanted to reach out to her but remembered the bars between them. Instead, he sent her a grin, sadness holding in the lines of his face.

“Saucy today are we, darling?”

Feyre gave him her own small grin, head resting on her knees as she rolled her eyes. “Go to hell, Rhys.”

“Will you join me there?”

Despite herself, despite the coldness seeping into her bones, Feyre let a breath of a laugh fly from her lips. She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs, tilting her head to rest back on the slime-covered wall.

Silence followed between them as Rhys and Feyre kept there gazes locked. They had learned to communicate this way soon after meeting. After Rhys helped her, saved her life.

She couldn’t help but think back on how much of a mess her life had become in the past few months. It was a thought she had often in her dingey cell. One moment she was crossing the sea with her father and sisters. The next, their ship became hijacked by pirates. And all the moments in between lead up to where she was currently. Trapped in the brig, on a ship owned by Captain Amarantha, gazing at the only person who showed her the smallest ounce of kindness.

The one person she thought of as a friend. The pirate she found herself falling in love with.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen. In fact, her and Rhys hated each other at first. It was the moment Rhys saved her life, took care of her when she was on the blink of death, that Feyre’s opinion on him started to change.

They had to be careful however. Feyre didn’t believe Rhys returned any feelings, but they were still friends in his eyes. If Amarantha found out about the relationship her prisoner and most trusted pirate had, it would not be good.

Feyre’s attention peaked when she heard Rhys shift his weight, boots scuffing against the dark, wet wood.

“Come on, darling,” Rhys spoke. His voice was steady, more tender then before. His eyes bore into hers and whatever was about to happen, Feyre knew it was not good. “I’ve been granted the pleasure to lead you above deck.”

Feyre’s heart started to race against her ribcage. Amarantha rarely called her above deck, unless it was to humiliate her or to have her perform meaningless tasks.

Not saying a word, feyre stood up on slightly shaky legs. She placed a hand on the wall behind her for support as Rhys took a key off of his belt, unlocking the bars to her cell. The rusty metal door swung opened with a creak and Rhys held out a hand for her.

With her bare feet padding against the cold, wet wood, Feyre walked towards Rhys. She kept her face calm and neutral as Rhys gave her a small nod, offering her a strained smile.

No words passed between them as they moved above deck. Feyre’s heart started beating faster and faster, blood rushing in her ears. To stop her legs from shaking with every step, she concentrated on the feel of Rhys’ strong hand gripping her upper arm, fire coursing through her at the contact.

All too soon, sunlight broke and Feyre had to squeeze her eyes closed at the bright light. The smell of the open sea, salty and refreshing, filled her nose. A breeze blew up, brushing her hair over her shoulder, and it was only then that Feyre realized that the ship wasn’t moving.

“How nice of you to join us, little wench.”

Feyre forced her eyes open, Rhys’ hand tightening on her arm. She took a moment to look around, only to see every pirate and sailor on the ship standing around the main deck, watching her with amused looks. In the middle of them all, red hair blazing in the afternoon sun, sword on her hip, black coat flowing in the breeze, was Captain Amarantha.

Feyre’s heart clenched at the sight.

“Bring her forward, Rhysand.” Amarantha smiled, cruel and wicked as kraken itself.

Rhys did as he was told, giving Feyre’s arm a squeeze to let her know he was here. She wasn’t completely alone. It was only when they were standing right in front of Amarantha that Rhys slowly let go, stepping back just a few paces.

Feyre kept her chin held high, despite the thumping of her heart. She ignored the calls, the laughs, the mocking jeers from the pirates around her. She simply kept her gaze on the pirate Captain before her.

“Good news,” Amarantha spoke, the dreaded smile was still plastered on her face. “I’ve finally decided to let you go, little wench.”

Feyre didn’t respond. She let her face remain as emotionless as possible. She didn’t show the excitement and confusion, the fear that was building in the pit of her stomach.

There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

But Amarantha pressed on, a hand placed on the pistol on her hip. “You, lass, are free to walk off this ship.”

The laughter around her grew. The excitement bubbling throughout all of the pirates. Feyre wanted nothing more then to turned around, reassure himself Rhys was still with her. But she didn’t dare move. She kept her lips shut. Her gaze stayed on Amarantha, who was now pacing back and forth before her.

“Unfortunately for you,” she said, coming to a stop right in front of Feyre,“there is only one way off this ship for you.” Her voice was sickly sweet and the look in her eyes turned Feyre’s stomach more than the swaying sea ever could.

Amarantha turned her gaze. Slowly, Feyre followed her line of sight. What she saw caused her to release a breath through clenched teeth, heart ready to jump out of her rib cage.

A wooden plank was set up on the side of the ship, sticking out over the blue, icy water. In the distance, just barely, Feyre could make out what could possibly be an island.

That was the catch. She was walking off of the ship alright. Just directly into the water.

They were going to maroon her.

Feyre turned her wide gaze back to Amarantha. But the Captain simply grinned at her, all teeth.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, to try and talk her way out of it. But someone came up behind her. Feyre couldn’t help but gasp as they grabbed her roughly, laughing in her ear as they tied her hands together.

Amarantha,” Rhys spoke up, voice hard and steady. But he didn’t speak another word as Amarantha turned on him.

“Yes, Rhysand?” She raised an eyebrow, gripping her pistol tighter as she took a slow, steady step forward. “Is there a problem?”

Any other sailor would have backed down, ran away. But Feyre watched as Rhys held his chin high, raising his own eyebrow. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him, even as the pirate gripped her roughly from behind.

“You’re going to get rid of a perfectly good slave? He questioned. And even though Feyre knew he didn’t mean it, we would never say this about her and mean it, it still hurt. “What lad shall do her work now?

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage, lad,” Amarantha bit out. “But seeing as you’ve taken such a liking towards her, how about you join our little wench. After all, I can’t have one of my pirates working against me.”

A muscle in Rhys’ jaw clenched, his mouth forming around words he didn’t get to say. A group of pirates came up, holding him back as Amarantha turned back around.

“Now lass,” she said to Feyre, “let’s get this show on the road.”

There was nothing she could do. There was no amount of struggle that would help her. No one on the ship who would stand up for her.

With her heels digging into the wood of the ship, Feyre was dragged towards the plank. She stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, looking out at the piece of wood before her. She tried to turn around, tried to do something. But when she looked over her shoulder, she saw a number of swords pointed at her. Amarantha stood back, watching with that deadly grin.

Feyre risked casting her gaze to Rhys. His violent eyes started on her, tracking her every movement, burn into her soul. Her heart broke at the thought of losing him, never properly thanking him. Never telling him how she felt.

Looking back out at the water, a crystal-clear death trap swaying under her, Feyre took a shaky step forward. The breeze suddenly became harsher, her knees finally ready to buckle. Her mind was working overtime trying to figure out how she could survive this one. They only tied her hands with fabric. There was a possibility she could get out of it, then swim to that island in the distance. If she didn’t drown first. Then all she had to do-

“Get on with it!”

There were shouts behind her. Followed by a stomp on the wooden plank. Before Feyre could realize what was happening, she was falling. She heard laughter, a scream, someone calling her name. She felt her back hit the water, felt the cold, then there was nothing.

* * *

Rhys shook out his wet hair. His eyes stayed trained on the ship in the distance, moving farther and farther away from them. He could still hear the shrills of laughter ringing in his ears from the mindless pirates.

He didn’t think she’d actually do it. He honestly did not think Amarantha would get rid of him. He was her best sailor - not that that was something to brag about.

Yet here he was.

Rhys took a breath in through his nose, running fingers through his wet locks before turning around to look at the sleeping figure on the sand.

Golden-brown hair was plastered to her face, her lips and skin paler than normal. Despite the sun, the water was anything but forgiving. Her poor excuse for clothes was doing little to provide any sort of warmth. The moment they landed on the island, Rhys rung out his wet coat and draped it over her.

Feyre had been in the water for longer than she should have been. Rhys had watched, horrified, as she struggled to get the ties off of her wrists so she could swim. But she couldn’t. By the time Amarantha forced him off of the wooden plank, the cold had gotten the best of her.

Thankfully - gods, thankfully - she would live. Rhys swam as hard and fast as he could, with Feyre in his arms, towards the island they were currently rested on.

Rhys kept his loving gaze on her for a moment longer, fingers longing to reach out and just touch her. Instead, however, Rhys turned back towards the horizon. He needed a distraction, so he decided to take stock of what they had.

Aside from the clothes on their backs, they had one pistol with one shot.

That was it.

That bloody wench, Rhys cursed Amarantha.

There was so much they had to figure out. Especially if they were to make it off of the island. With any luck, rum runners would have a stock here somewhere. They would also need to build a fire, Rhys notes as the sun started to set. Hopefully the smoke and flames would always act as a signal to passing ships.

If there were any passing ships.

Rhys heard a little moan, causing him to whip around. He found Feyre waking up, brows pinched as she slowly sat up.

She opened her eyes, pulling his coat closer around her for warmth as Rhys made his way towards her, kneeling in the sand.

“Hey darling,” Rhys kept his voice soft, low. He brushed damp hair off of Feyre’s forehead as she turned her wide gaze towards him. “Do you remember what happened?”

Feyre held his gaze for a moment and damn it Rhys’ heart couldn’t take it.

He didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. One moment, he was helping Amarantha’s wicked mouth prisoner, the next he was in love with her.

Feyre slowly nodded her head, eyes turning towards the horizon for a moment.

“She actually made you walk?” Feyre turned her burning gaze back to him as Rhys nodded.

“She did.”

Feyre hummed. Then, despite the situation, Rhys couldn’t help but be taken aback by the small grin that started to grace her lips. “Even she couldn’t handle such an ego.”

Rhys blinked, once, then twice, before laughter flew from his lips. The sound caused Feyre to grin wider.

But soon, the moment passed. Rhy watched in silence as Feyre’s eyes took in the land and water around them. She pulled the coat closer to her body as a breeze blew by.

“What are we going to do?” She asked softly, eyes on the horizon. “How are we going to get off this island? We don’t have food, drinking water, supplies, anything. Only Davy Jones knows what’s in the trees behind us, or when another ship will come.” Those eyes turned to Rhys once more, and his heart broke at the panic slowly setting in.

After all these months, trapped as she was, she was so strong. In fact, she still was. She was the strongest person Rhys had ever met. But even the strongest were able to have they moments, and this was hers.

“What if another ship never comes?” She continued on, words flowing out of her before Rhys could speak. “What then? How are we to survive. What are we-”

Rhys didn’t know if Feyre returned any such feelings for him. Perhaps she saw them as friends and nothing more. But in that moment, he didn’t think about any of that. He simply held onto her and pulled her close.

Then he kissed her.

He cupped her face, lips crashing against hers, claiming them in a searing, hungry kiss.

It was as if he was finally been awaken, the feeling of his lips on hers. It feed his very soul, made him feel more alive then he ever had before. It was as if some long lost part of him had finally been found.

It took Rhys just a moment to realize Feyre wasn’t moving, wasn’t kiss him back. But before the panic could set it, before he could think he completely messed everything up, she pulled him closer.

Rhys couldn’t help but moan as Feyre’s fingers threaded through his hair, gripping him tightly. Whatever leash he had been holding onto snapped at the feeling. He throw the coat off Feyre, pushing her back into the side and settling on top of her. His tongue swiped against her bottom lip and the sound her release was like music to his ears.

Their hands roamed, the kisses becoming harder, more passionate, more desperate, until their lungs demanded air. With one last kiss, Rhys pulled back, resting his forehead against Feyre’s.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen between now and tomorrow, darling,” he spoke breathlessly. “All I know is I will do every in my power to keep you safe.”

“Good,” Feyre whispered, lips kiss-swollen and eyes shining. “Because I would do the same for you.”

Rhys smiled down at the breathtaking women beneath him. The first true smile he allowed to grace his lips in months.

He meant every word he said. Feyre was more precious to him then any bounty on the seven seas. He truly didn’t know what was going to happen between now and tomorrow. He didn’t know when or if they would make it off this island. All he did know was he loved the women currently in his arms. He loved her more then anything. He would treasure this time with her.

For it was precious.

No matter how horrible there situation was, this time, her with him, it was a gift.

It was as simply as that.

**A gift.**

**All of it.**


	6. 1789 AD — FRENCH REVOLUTION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment: This wonderful fic was written by Tara ( @tacmc ) and I’m SO thankful because she’s been having some very packed weeks yet still, she took time to make this and words can’t express what it means. She’s also one of the best writers in this fandom and I was delighted when she agreed to do this collab. Thank you Tara for your time and dedication and for being one of the main feeders of my constant need for fics <3
> 
> Warning: This is a story revolving around the French Revolution. It contains graphic imagery.

**“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”**

Feyre looked over her shoulder, and smiled emotionlessly before returning her gaze to the chaos outside.

Smoke and ash filled the streets of France.

It wasn’t meant to be this way, wasn’t meant to turn out so atrocious. They only wanted freedom.

But Freedom had a price.

It had all started with peaceful protests, but the government was not in favor of their rebellious objections. It did not take long before they had to go into hiding, before they had to find a place to hold the lot of them in secret.

And they weren’t the only ones. Rebels were filling the homes and jeopardizing the lives of many innocent families. All who believed in the cause.

Freedom.

Rhysand and Feyre had been sleeping on a cot in a dingy basement for the last month, only leaving to flee to the attic where they met their crew to discuss their next move.

And it was finally approaching.

Tomorrow, they would enter the barricade. Tomorrow, they would be coming for them.

Tomorrow, it might all be over.

“Are we going to die?” she asked, her voice bland.

Rhysand blew out a breath through his nose. She always knew it was a possibility, but it didn’t make it any easier. She had a life, a home, and she had left it to join the cause.

Rhysand was nothing more than an orphan. He had nothing to lose.

“Isn’t it worth it if we do?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, with no hesitation. “But it’s still frightening.”

Rhysand nodded, and joined her by the window. He could see citizens walking by, but only their shoes as the small, cracked window was near the top of the ceiling.

“Whatever happens, I will find you,” he promised, and kissed the back of her head.

She didn’t say anything, but the tension in her shoulders faded, if only a little bit.

Although Rhysand seemed to be the calm one, he knew what they were walking into.

But they were fighting for something they believed in.

They were fighting for a chance, a future. And yet, he had just been with Cassian and Azriel talking strategy, and once they were finished talking, they all sat silently in one another’s presences. None of them wanted to move. None of them wanted to leave. They simply wanted to soak up the moment, in case there weren’t many more ahead.

Rhysand’s fingers trailed up to the buttons holding Feyre’s dress together at her back. Her eyes fluttered shut as he undid them, one by one. Her pale skin greeted him, cuts and bruises covered every inch that her dingy gown couldn’t.

She’d be wearing pants tomorrow, along with boots and an old shirt, just like the men. She needed to move. She needed to be able to fight.

Rhysand’s trembling fingers ran down her arm, and a tear slid down Feyre’s cheek. He knew it wasn’t because she was sad, not because she rejected his touch.

She turned to him and fell into his chest, then pressed her lips tenderly against his.

It may be the last time, may be their final goodbye before they walked into battle, and if it was Rhysand intended to make it count.

He loved her.

And if it was the last time, he could leave confident that she knew as much.

The rain made it harder to see.

But it didn’t matter, because they were overpowered. Rhysand and his group were falling, their numbers already increasingly low.

He wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared for what had been coming, wasn’t prepared for what they had to offer.

Wasn’t prepared for the loss.

“We have to surrender, Rhys!” Azriel called from the other side of the barricade.

“No!” Cassian called back, from next to Rhys. “Until the end!”

Rhysand nodded.  _Until the end._

He believed that, believed in the fight, until he jumped down from his post and saw her.

Lying, watching him, unmoving, in a pool of crimson.

Rhysand’s world stopped, and suddenly, he couldn’t hear their gunshots. He couldn’t hear Cassian screaming orders, couldn’t hear the explosions, couldn’t hear anything but a ringing in his ears.

He ran to her, his world moving in slow motion.

And when he reached her, she smiled. Her clouded blue eyes were soft as her hand weakly reached for his. His fingers intertwined with narrow, gentle ones as his forehead brushed along hers.

He hadn’t realized he was crying until his tears ran onto her cheeks, washing away the dirt and ash.

“Feyre,” he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” she said, her eyes closing, then reopening to meet his. “I’m not scared. Not anymore.”

 _I am_ , he wanted to say, but pressed a kiss lightly to her head, her nose, her lips, as the rain made a mockery of the chaos around them.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you.”

“I will find you in the next life,” she promised. “And until then, I will wait for you.”

He shook his head, unable to speak. “You’re going to be okay.”

He knew it was a lie.

He knew she had already lost the fight.

“I love you,” she said.

And he wept. He wept over her until there was nothing left. He wept until he stood, his body numb. He wept until he climbed to the top of the barricade, with the flag of his ancestors, his brothers on each side of him.

They fired their weapons, but it was useless.

“To the people who look at the stars and wish,” Cassian whispered quietly from beside him.

Her words.

Those were her words.

“To the stars who listen - and the dreams that are answered,” he replied, just as he had to her. His voice seemed far away, distant.

Rhysand wept.

He wept until he stood atop the barricade with his head held high, and stood for the lost, the broken, the weary, the beaten, the bruised.

And he had no regrets as he fought for every last one of them.

Until the very end.

Because it was  **a gift**.

**All of it.**


	7. 1875 AD — VICTORIAN ERA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written by Emily ( @highladyfxyre ), the nicest person with the cutest british accen ever, my neighbour (compared to some of you) and the first person to be my friend here, to push me to write my first fic. Thank you so much for joining me in this fun little project and I hope we do more together.

**“There you are, I’ve been looking for you!”**

Feyre turned at the sound of her maid’s voice. Great. She had been hoping, just for a second, to have a moment to herself, before she had to get dressed and made up. Before she had to go and dance and talk and entertain dozens of men, any of which could be the man she was going to marry.

There was to be a ball tonight, in the Archeron manor, one that would no doubt carry on well into the night, leaving her feet aching by the end of it.

Feyre had always hated them.

Her sister, on the other hand, loved the balls.. Loved the flowing dresses, the gentlemen in their suits, and the band playing wonderful music with their violins.

At least Nesta, her oldest sister, had a similar aversion. Feyre knew she would rather be upstairs, her nose in a book, and far away from the attentions of Tomas Manday. Though their father had never said it outright, it was clear that one day Thomas was Nesta’s betrothed.

They both belonged to two of the wealthiest families in London; their fathers would be delighted to make a partnership. Even though she knew it was for the best, Feyre knew Nesta wasn’t delighted by the choice.

But there wasn’t much she could do about it, lest she ruin their families honour.

As the youngest sister, Feyre had slightly more freedom than her older sisters’, though not much. Her husband had not been chosen yet.

Which was why they were throwing this ball.

Her mother may have denied it, but Feyre knew that she was in a hurry to get her wed and producing babes. Elain was engaged to Graysen, a lawyer’s son. Their parents had been delighted at that.

Feyre, on the other hand, was not even close to finding a husband. Hence this ball, and all the eligible gentlemen that would attend it.

She bit back a groan as Alis pulled her corset tighter than she thought was possible, and feared that her ribs would collapse lest the strings stretch any further.

“Nearly finished now, Miss Archeron,” Her maid told her, tugging on the strings of the corset one last time before tying them. Feyre could barely breathe, and would no doubt long for the food served tonight, as even the thought of eating in this made her nauseous.

After a moment, Feyre stepped into her gown, and stood patiently as Alis tied the seemingly endless laces and bows on the back. It was… beautiful. Her maid had outdone herself.

Midnight blue, huge skirts that fell over her like the night sky, her waist fashionably tiny, all thanks to her corset. Her mother would be proud.

Feyre’s chestnut hair was abound in a braid and pinned to her head, a diamond choker adorning her throat. Her feet slipped into the softest slippers, perfect for dancing on the smooth wooden floor of their manor’s ballroom.

Tonight would be perfect.

Tonight would be awful.

Tonight she would meet her future husband, the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

For a moment, as Alis fussed with her hair, making sure it was perfect, Feyre allowed herself to imagine what he would be like.   
  
Rich, undoubtedly. Perhaps a lawyer, like Graysen, or a doctor of medicine. Or it could be a fellow businessman, a gentleman. Maybe he would love to read, like Nesta, and be a good dancer. He would be kind. Polite. Loyal.

Would she love him? Would he love her?

Maybe they could grow to love each other. Or at least live in companionship. Even if she couldn’t choose who she married, not really, hopefully it would be someone she would be happy with.

Alis’ hands on her shoulders drew Feyre out of her thoughts. “It’s time. Your mother wants to see you before it begins, miss.”

“Of course,” Her mother wanted to make sure the three of them looked perfect, presentable. Tonight, the focus would be on her, even if her mother had not admitted it. “Thank you, Alis.”

And with that, Feyre gracefully - every step she took tonight would have to be graceful - stepped out into the hallway outside of her rooms, hoping the pale makeup on her face would hide her exertion from walking in a dress as heavy as this. But, as always, the pain of her corset lessened as she grew more used to it.

Nesta and Elain were already there, tall and beautiful in their sweeping gowns, hair abound in a hairstyle similar to her own.

They both awknowledged Feyre as she joined them, but neither of them spoke. Not strange; their relationship was far from the one she knew other sisters had.

Silent, Feyre stood next to Elain, her sister looking like spring incarnate in a pale gown - the latest fashion. Her own was popular last year, not so much now, but there wasn’t much she could do about that.

They dresses were similar, however, so it was unlikely many would notice. Her mother would, though.

The ball would begin soon. Too soon. Not soon enough.

Tonight would be beautiful. Tonight would be awful.

Tonight would decide her future.

* * *

The ball had been in motion for about three quarters of an hour, and Feyre’s feet already ached.

Trying to find a husband meant dancing with almost every eligible bachelor in the room, to Feyre distaste. She was good at it, her mother insisted on it, but one too many men’s hands had held her waist a little too tightly, lingered a little too long.

Thankfully, she had been freed from the dancing for a moment, as her mother was talking to a man Feyre had never seen before. Granted, that could possibly be because his back was to her, but even so, something seemed… unfamiliar about him. Not in a bad way, however.

Her mother had indicated for her to join them, so she had, slowly making her way across the ballroom, trying not to get ensnared into another conversation, another invitation to dance.

“This is my youngest daughter, Feyre,” Her mother said to the stranger as she approached.

Feyre still couldn’t see his face. Until her turned to her, a small smile gracing his features.

Her heart fluttered.

This man… there were no words to describe him. Feyre was sure she had never seen him before, because if she had, she would have remembered.

Dark hair, eyes so dark they almost looked purple, the shade not so different than the one of her dress.

She curtseyed.

He bowed, and Feyre extended her hand in a silent invitation for him to kiss it, a gesture her mother had reminded her again and again to do.

The stranger pressed his lips against the fabric of her white gloves, their eyes locking, and Feyre was grateful for her pale makeup, for her cheeks were almost certainly red underneath it.

He straightened, and she realised that he was almost a head taller than her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Archeron.” His voice was deep, enchanting.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr…”

“Knight. Rhysand Knight.” Knight. The name sounded familiar, though she was not sure why.

Her mother said, “Mr Knight belongs to one of the wealthiest families in all of London. He has just finished travelling in– where was it again, sir?”

Feyre had almost forgotten her mother was there.

“America, Mrs Archeron. I studied for a year in the North.”

“How fascinating!”  
  
Feyre nodded her agreement, though she was now only half listening. Her brain was far too busy imagining what her and Rhys’ children would look like.

The three of them continued the polite conversation for another minute or so, before her mother excused herself. The pointed look she gave Feyre didn’t escape notice.

And just like that, the two of them were talking. Alone.

Her heart pounded.

“Do you wish to dance?” Mr Knight - Rhysand - asked, extending a hand.

Suddenly, her feet felt remarkably better.

Her gloved hand touched his. “It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

Mr Knight’s hands were on her waist, her shoulder, though she could barely feel them. While other men had taken this moment to grip her a little too tightly, his hands barely grazed the silk of her gown.

Various couples danced beside them. Feyre conspicuously eyed the partners beside them, noting that it would be some business partner of her father she would spin to when the music called for it. Though it would only be for a few seconds. Then she would be once again with Mr Knight.

They began to move to the music. The dance came naturally to her, as she had done this more times than she could count, at more balls than she could remember.

“You look divine tonight, Miss Archeron,” Mr Knight said, looking down at her. He was almost a head taller, after all.

“Thank you, Mr Knight.”

“Please, call me Rhysand.”

Before she could reply, the music called for a whirl, and they swept away from each other, Feyre beginning to dance with the previously mentioned business partner.

After a moment, her and Mr Knight were reunited again, and they continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.

“That wouldn’t be proper, Mr Knight.” She hoped her cheeks weren’t as flushed as she knew they must be. “You mentioned studying in America?”

“That’s correct. Law.”

Feyre nodded, and they both paused for a moment as he spun her to the music. “Do you miss it? America, I mean.”

  
His eyes locked on hers for a moment too long. “I did.”

Feyre’s heart pounded so hard she wondered why he could not hear it. Perhaps he could. Perhaps that was the reason for the smile on his lips. A similar one tugged at hers.

  
“You are staying in England, then?”  
  


“For the foreseeable future, Miss Archeron. Perhaps longer, if I had a reason to stay.” He paused for a second before asking, “Do I?”

Thankfully, the music called for them to separate once again, and she twirled to another partner, wishing that she could stay there forever, wishing that the music could hurry up and she could go back to him.

And then she was once again in his arms. Looked him in the eye. Hoped she looked braver than she felt. “Yes. I think that there perhaps could be, Mr Knight.”

Again, that smile. “Please call me Rhysand.”

A moment of hesitation. And then, “Rhysand.”

The name felt right on her lips.

And when he smiled, bigger than the other times, Feyre found herself smiling back.

Tonight had been beautiful, after all.

It felt like the start of something. Meeting Rhysand, talking to him, dancing with him…

**A gift. All of it.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get two chapters today because I was studying yesterday and forgot to post. Sorry :')


	8. 1890 AD — INDIAN EMPIRE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUIDE:
> 
> Jalebi: Indian sugar syrup sweet shaped like a pretzel  
> Barfi: Indian sweet made from condensed milk  
> Jaan: Darling in Hindi  
> Kameez: Indian dress  
> Bagwaan: God  
> Duputta: Scarf.

“ **There you are, I’ve been looking for you.** ” Her employer and the most beautiful man she’d ever laid her eyes upon said to her.

* * *

_1 hour earlier_

Feyre Archeron was speeding through the crowd filled streets as fast as her legs could carry her, expertly dodging food carts and clothes stalls. She heard the palace guards yell obscene words at her in Hindi. She didn’t dare break her concentration and turn to look at their looming figures with Scims adorned on their backs, barrelling towards her.  She could only imagine how painful one would feel entering her body.

She knew these streets like the back of her hand as she slid under the bottom of one the carts and disappeared into the crowd on the other side. She had stolen a sparse bundle of bangles for both her sisters, Nesta and Elain. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for them. She would whore, sell and shred herself apart to keep them happy.

A loud, sudden noise to her left jolted her, she could still feel the sweat beading on the back of her neck at the thought of being followed and caught. Refusing to turn around and look in fear of giving herself away, she weaved through the crowds skilfully and disappeared without a trace.

Or so she thought.

When she was confident she had lost her tails did she survey her surrounding better, the narrow roads filled with coloured lights and designs. Diwali, the festival of lights, was in full swing. Her colourful skirt twinkled under the many multicoloured lights that had been strung up.

She had been wearing the same costume every Diwali, too poor to afford something different. Her eyes would skim over other girls costumes, admiringly. The ones from wealthier families. They would shoot her dirty looks in return.

Peering over her shoulder, her eyes did a once over around the surrounding perimeter again, Feyre was so distracted by evading the guards that she crashed into someone. Hard.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” Rhysand, the Prince of Delhi said. She watched him give her a once over and clicking his tongue, shaking his head.  

“Getting into trouble again have we Feyre Jaan?” She saw him look behind her and could only watch with a deer in the headlights kind of look as the guards emerged from behind her, in breathless and cold rage plaster on their faces.  They fell on one knee, bowing showing their respect when they saw Rhys.

“Prince Rhysand, she was caught stealing bangles from the stall.” The one with a turban covering his head, explained.

Feyre stood her ground and sniffed haughty as if to say she would not pay a single cent for these overpriced bangles. This seemed to aggrieve the guards more. Rhysand held his hands up in a show of peace. His soothing scent of jasmine and the mother earth washed over her and soothed her frazzled nerves.

“Now, now gentlemen.” He purred, shoving his hands in his pockets. “How much were they?”

The guards shot Feyre a dirty look which she bristled under, Rhysand seemed to know she could pounce at any moment, his arms shooting around her waist suddenly as if to hold her little scrapper self-back.

“12 rupees.” One of them reluctantly said as he pursed his lips, seeming to realise this slave girl with the dirty kameez, was going to get away with such atrocities.  Rhysand dug around his pocket and dumped the coins in the guard’s hands.

“Keep the change.” He winked and dragged Feyre with him by the crook of his arm. She was furious.

“I can handle myself.” She said in a scathing tone, giving him a displeased look as she shook her arm free. Rhysand sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets once more as he leaned by a nearby stall.

“Feyre Jaan, let’s not fight on such an auspicious day. “

“Prick.” She muttered under her breath. She knew he heard her as a small wicked smile overcame his features. Surveying the future King had her shooting him a baffled look, he didn’t seem like Royalty at this given moment. He was one who preferred opulence and grandiose but today was wearing ragged dirty kaftan with a kerchief over his mouth to disguise his identity. He came to seek her out which was both weird and alarming, but of course the Palace guards would recognise him anywhere. What could he possibly want?

It was no secret that she was dirt poor and worked for the Royal family along with her other siblings but for some deranged reason, their future ruler had taking a liking to Feyre and would always help her out of sticky situations even if she did not consider them to be friends.

How could she respect a man like him? He was practically rolling in money and could buy this small street and her ten times over. He didn’t know the worth of it, he handed it out like it was jalebi, where as she would do anything to buy her sisters a small box of barfi.

Feyre turned her back to him, her dupatta slapping him in the face as she started walking in the opposite direction. For some reason her insolence towards him didn’t anger him but make that cunning smile on his face grow wider…his violet eyes glinting more under the twinkling fairy lights like a thousand amethyst. He infuriated her and confused her at the same time as he followed behind her like some lost puppy.  

The rest of the Kingdom thought of him as someone to be feared. His father was a ruthless man; one wrong move towards him and it led to a public execution, she’d seen it happen multiple times. He tried to teach his son the same cold callousness and Rhysand pulled off the mask well enough but after the incident she’d seen last summer, she wasn’t so sure.

One of his guards had been stealing supplies from the Palace to feed his family. His father had found out and wanted the man whipped and beheaded, right then and there but Rhysand’s voice had rang out clear and powerful when he stepped in and told his father that he was the one who authorised him to take those supplies. She knew he was lying but his face had remained impassive as his father ordered his men to deliver the guards whipping to Rhysand.

_She could still hear the cracks of the whips, the slick sound like a snake coiling around him as it contacted his skin repeatedly. The immense number of soldiers it took to hold him still as he roared and fought to break free. He was nothing more than a drooling, bloodied mess after the 20th strike, barely conscious as the soldiers deposited him on the ground like a bag of stones. His head hung low and violet eyes, dull and laced with pain. He looked like a dark fallen Prince and she’d never had the urge to paint something more in her life. He hadn’t been able to get out of bed for months. She was constantly attending to him and his wounds._

_His best friends, Cassian and Azriel would sneak into his room without permission and visit him. Though he was still quick to smile and laugh with them some part of him had been robbed that day, a semblance of his innocence had been chipped._

“What are you thinking about, Jaan?” Rhysand asked in a teasing tone, noticing her introspect. She clenched her fist and stared him with blazing blue eyes.

“I’m thinking of how to get rid of you.” She didn’t know why he continued to use that god forsaken nickname. He’d used it in front of all his staff too, but never in front of his father. There were some days where she felt more bad for him than envy at the life he lived. His life was no easier than hers by any means.

“Rid of me or my clothes?” He said with an arrogant smirk on his face which left Feyre growling in anger.  _Stupid prick,_  she thought to herself.

She reached the edge of the tiny street known as Velaris and sat at the edge of the waterfront, waiting for the fireworks to start and dazzle the night sky. Fireworks were a luxury that few could enjoy but every year on Diwali, the King would release some from his palace for everyone to see. She could have gotten better seats if she had stayed but the Palace was not a place of purity but instead filled with bloodshed and fear which had seeking out alternative routes.

Rhysand sat next to her, wordlessly, still wearing that half grin on his face that made him look 10 years younger…He didn’t do that very often, smile. Why should he when he grew up with a father so hateful and was a tyrant.

She could feel Rhysand surveying her in the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything. It was easier to ignore his presences than be jostled by him constantly. She watched him lean back on the ball of his hands as he stared up at the night sky, the wind ruffling his midnight hair.

He’d never looked more beautiful than he did now, the refraction of the lights from the stars, bouncing off his hair, his eyes shut against the burdens of the world. So, care free and un-Royal.

It was unfair that the man could be wearing peasant clothes and still look princely and good. She huffed a breath as she stared out into the Sidra sea. He peeked one eye open to look at her.

“Something on your mind, Feyre Jaan? You’ve been huffing and puffing for five minutes now. I was beginning to think you were going into cardiac arrest.”

She could only watch in horror as her limbs reacted at their own accord and pushed Rhysand into the water, his body creating a wave as it contacted the water, droplets flying everywhere and hitting her in the face.  _She had really done it now,_  she thought. She was fired indefinitely and was going to be executed. She could see it now; her sisters tear stained faces as they tried to remain strong. They’d be the only ones who would mourn her, remember her.

She noted Rhysand stunned face as his hair was plastered to his forehead, his white tunic turning transparent from the water, clinging to him like a second skin. Her eyes studied his form, the way his muscles of his stomach coiled and bunched as he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back. Droplets of water hugging his face, sliding down freely.

She was transfixed. It was only the clearing of his throat that had her dragging her gaze away from his godly form.

“I-I…..” She stumbled, fear paralysing her vocal chords. “I’m so sorry.” She breathed out. His face remained hard and unmoving.

“A hand would be nice.” Seriousness laced his tone. She gulped.  _You really did it now, Feyre_. She thought as she edges towards the stonewall they’d be sitting on mere moments before.

Leaning over she outstretched her arm to him, watching as he hesitated for a instant before  strong calloused hand slipped into her own, gripping her tightly, yanking her. A yelp left her mouth as she was propelled forward into the cool water, beside him.

Rhysand’s boyish laughter filled the quiet air, chasing away the chills that sprouted over her skin, she stared at him utterly dumbfounded. He pushed a fallen strand away from his face and it was then she realised their hands were still intertwined and she wasn’t doing anything to pull it free. Mortified she studied the glistening water instead which was practically liquid darkness in the night.

“You know you’re awfully quiet and preoccupied today. Even on a good day I can’t stop you from snarling at me.”

“And you’re awfully chatty.” She fired back, crossing her arms, as if it was totally normal that the two of them be standing in the middle of the water.

“Would you rather I  _exercise_ my mouth in other ways?” He asked, his eyes suddenly dropping down to her lips and she swore her heart did a somersault in her chest as her stomach tightened at how his voice dipped at the word,  _exercise_. Bagwaan, this male will be the death of her.

“Maybe.” She purred out in a sultry voice. He was clearly astonished, not expecting such bluntness. Finally, she had the upper hand or, so she thought.

“Why don’t we find out?” She asked, pressing the advantage and his buttons. Arching his perfectly groomed brow, he waded a step closer in her direction and she surprisingly found herself rooted to the spot as he came within touching distance.

“Why don’t we, Feyre Jaan?” His voice deep and husky with want, jasmine scent invading her senses, making her eyes flutter shut. She couldn’t find a single reason to disagree with him in that moment. She heard the water sloshing around them as they stood chest to chest, him towering over her.

“Where should I start, Feyre Jaan? Here?” He asked, brushing the tip of his nose down the corner of her neck, eliciting a shiver from her.

“Here?” His tone softer and deeper as his lips brushed underneath her chin.

“Rhys,” she whimpered out. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head as she said his name like that. He gripped her around the waist gently.

“Tell me to stop now, Feyre, if you don’t want this…if you don’t want me,” he let out in a strangled and pained manner. She tugged at damp his shirt impatiently.

“Kiss me, you Prick,” she practically growled out. His arrogant laugh was swallowed by her hungry mouth, the first brushing of their lips was hesitant and explorative, sparks exploded behind her eyes and in the night sky. The kiss held so much emotion as if his mouth was trying to confess everything to her. It quickly turned carnal with want, her finger slipping into his saturated hair and behind his neck as he virtually lifted her against him.

He moaned her name against her lips like a prayer and she swallowed each one, clinging to him like a woman drowning. He tasted like a warm summer but felt like a cool winter against her. She got lost, drunk and high off the feel of him.

His tongue sweeping her bottom lip before nipping gently. She hissed and murmured his name this time. Her hands danced over every solid inch of him, sweeping under his shirt, pressing into his abdomen. They felt like two souls becoming one, two halves finding one another. Their kisses slowed and became less frantic and more impassioned setting her skin aflame. Immense pleasure overcame all her senses. His hands were everywhere but nowhere. His lips consuming her, so addictive she could remain lost within him for however long he pleased.

He took his time, brushing himself and his lips against her languidly before he pulled back, reluctantly. She whimpered at the loss of contact and tried to go back for another kiss. He laughed into the crook of her neck and shivered from the feel of it.

Rhysand was vibrating with joy and she was surprised to find her heart was equally as lightweight and happy.

“I have a something for you. It’s probably more than a little wet now.” He said in a dazed voice, his eyes still droopy and glassy from their kiss. She refused to let them detangle from each other completely. Her mind not completely registering what he was quite saying just yet. Her legs still fastened tightly around his waist as she waited.

“What is it?” She whispered, not believing she had just made out with the future King and was still straddling him, fingers playing with his hair at the nape of his neck, softly. He pulled out a piece of paper that was limp and falling apart but there was no denying what it was… a cry got stuck in her throat.

It was her and her family’s papers…for freedom. She looked at him with wonderment and gratitude in her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She would longer be a slave. She would no longer serve him. He’d bought them out.

“How-wh-what?” Was all she managed to butcher out.

“Sorry I couldn’t get it sooner.” He spoke, looking troubled and she smoothed out the creases of his furrowed brows. “It took my father some convincing to free you.” This time she did cry and buried her face in the crook of his neck. She had underestimate this man and the inexplicable pull she felt towards him. She hugged him with all that was in her, trying to convey how appreciative she was for this.

“Why?” Cupping his face, she peered at the beautiful plane and the glittering eyes dancing with delight.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked and shook her head, ‘no’, words couldn’t even leave her mouth because she was so happy and stunned. He regarded her amusedly before a more vulnerable look crossed his face.

“I love you, Feyre Jaan.” What shocked her the most was that him saying those words to her made her realise she felt the same way.

“I love you too, Rhys.” Wonderment and elation enriching her voice. She thanked the gods above for her freedom and for bringing them together. It was  **a gift. All of it.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited when Bhavi ( @verifiefangirl ) agreed to do this with me because she is a fellow Elriel shipper and has a fantastic fic about them and she’s so good I knew I needed her in this collab. Thank you so much!!


	9. 1912 AD — TITANIC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This magnificent chapter was written by my good friend Anna ( @queen-archeron ). When she told me she was doing the Titanic we spent a while just sending each other gifs of Leo di Caprio because we both love him so much!! Thank you Anna for doing this with me and creating this masterpiece :D

_**“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”** _

_Feyre ripped her arm out of the grasp of the three men crowding around her and turned to see a violet eyed stranger holding out his hand. The men growled and took another step forward, but the stranger stood his ground, watching them with a cold gaze. They muttered a few insults and started to walk away, much to Feyre’s relief, leaving her alone with the man._

_“Thank you,” she breathed, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. It had been a stupid idea to come to the third class floor of the ship, especially since she was a first class passenger, but she had been curious, and when she heard music drifting up from the stairwell her curiosity had gotten the best of her._

_“You don’t belong down here,” the man said as he moved to stand next to her. The crowds of dancing people around them were a sight Feyre hadn’t expected to see. She had expected rats and garbage scattered across the floor, not parties and bands. And handsome men._

_“I heard the music and wanted to find where it was coming from,” she murmured, eyes still roaming the room until, at last, they landed on the strangers face._

_“I’m Rhysand,” he grinned, holding out his hand again. She took it and he leaned down to press a kiss against the back of her palm. It sent sparks throughout her body, and she was worried he sensed her sudden change of mood but he straightened and waited for her to introduce herself._

_“I’m Feyre.”_

_“Nice to meet you, Feyre. I bet they don’t have parties like this up in first class,” he teased, gesturing to the large room. She thought about what Tamlin must be doing, if he was looking for her, but right now, she didn’t care. She wanted nothing to do with Tamlin, and a party seemed like the perfect distraction._

_She turned to Rhysand and smirked. “I’ll have to be the judge of that. Why don’t you show me how you third classmen throw real parties.”_

_His eyes lit up, and in that moment, she knew he was someone she would never forget._

* * *

“Rhys! Rhys!”

Feyre ran through the crowds of people on the deck, the smell of salt water filling the frigid air. Her whole body was shaking in fear as she made her way into one of the small stairwells that led to the third class decks of the ship.

“Rhys!” Her screams were turning desperate, voice cracking every time she spoke, but she had to find him. She would not leave until she found him, even if it meant drowning. The Titanic was going to sink, there was no doubt about it.

She rushed through the halls, heading in the opposite direction of everyone else. Everything around her looked blurry because of the tears blocking her vision.

“Feyre!”

Her head snapped to the left and she released a dry sob as she saw Rhys sprinting towards her, clothes wet and hair sticking to his forehead. She didn’t care as she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him like he was her lifeline.

“We need to get out of here,” he murmured against her neck, pulling back to take her face in his hands. “Everything below the sixth deck is under water.”

Feyre started to cry again but Rhys brought her face to his and kissed her slowly, trying to calm her down as much as possible. She savored the feel of his skin on hers, his scent wrapping around them. They were both shaking and she knew it wasn’t just because of the cold. The fact that the entire ship would be underwater in less than an hour scared her to death.  

“We need to get to a lifeboat,” he said with a shaky voice as he pulled away again and grabbed her hand tightly. She nodded in agreement, unable to form proper words, and let him lead her through the now empty halls.

Screaming and sobbing filled the air as they opened one door and entered the first class dining hall. Windows were being broken as people tried to climb out, and Feyre could spot families huddled in corners, shaking in fear just like she was. Rhys pulled her along before she could look for too long and dragged her toward the back of the ship.

The moment they stepped outside a breeze of cold air made them both gasp aloud. It had to be below freezing, but she huddled close to Rhys to stay warm.

“Look,” he whispered, voice shaking. “The stars are bright tonight. That’s a good sign.”

A tear fell down Feyre’s cheek as she looked up at the sky, at the thousands of stars filling the darkness. He was right, the stars were so bright that when she looked out towards the horizon she thought they were ship lights. Unfortunately, she was sadly mistaken.

* * *

_“Lay down? On the dirty deck? Why would I do such a thing?” Feyre crossed her arms and stared at Rhys in confusion._

_This time of night—right after everyone had finished dinner and were heading back to their rooms—was the only time Feyre could see her new friend without being noticed. A first class passenger being seen with a third class passenger would surely start some rumors and arguments, especially when it came to her husband, Tamlin._

_“Just trust me,” he grinned, removing his jacket so he could lower himself to the ground. Feyre watched him in shock and he started to chuckle when he noticed her expression._

_“Don’t keep me waiting,” he teased, rising onto his elbows to grab her hand. Before she had time to fully react, he had tugged her onto the wooden floorboards of the deck, her dress splayed out around her legs and her hair cascading over her shoulders._

_“This is absurd, but now that I’m here, what is it that you want me to do?” She asked, smiling as she turned to face him. Their noses almost touched and she froze in horror, but didn’t pull away. In fact, they stayed staring at each other for several long minutes, listening the the sound of waves crashing against the ship far below._

_“You’re beautiful, Feyre,” he murmured, brushing her hand with his. Her breathing hitched and he finally turned his face to look up at the sky as he lifted a finger and pointed. “I wanted you to see the stars.”_

_She looked up and became lost in the sight before her. Thousands upon thousands of stars took up the sky like freckles, and she remembered never being able to see them like this up close because living in London meant she was always surrounded by flashing lights and buildings blocking the wondrous view._

_“I’ve always wanted to paint the night sky,” she whispered, more to herself than to Rhys, although she knew he was listening. “Tamlin always said that I was wasting my time with painting, that I could do much better and more successful things in my life, so whenever he caught me painting he would mock me about it.”_

_Rhys stayed silent next to her, sensing that she wasn’t done._

_“I had a hidden stash back at our home in the city, and he never found out about it. I painted meadows and cities and people, hoping that maybe someday I would find someone who appreciates them.” She turned her head to look into those violet eyes, the ones that she wanted to stare at forever._

_“I would love to see those paintings someday,” he said, giving her a soft smile._

_For the first time in a while, Feyre smiled back. It wasn’t the fake smiles that she wore around Tamlin and his cohorts. No, this smile was real, and it felt good._

_She felt good._

* * *

“Do not let go of my hand,” Rhys ordered Feyre as he pulled her through the crowds of people in life jackets on the top deck of the ship. Her vision was still blurry because of her tears, but she managed to see enough to know where they were headed.

Rhys dragged her through some close knit groups of people before emerging near a lifeboat that was in the process of being filled. Dock workers were yelling orders but she could barely hear them over the sounds of screaming.

“Women and children only!” She heard the man yell, and she began shaking her head in refusal until Rhys took her face in his hands again, as he had done earlier.

“Look at me,” he said, and she averted her gaze from the boat to him, breathing heavily. “You get on that boat, okay? You get on that boat and get the hell out of here, I’ll catch the next one.”

Feyre shook her head again. “I’m not going without you. I refuse to.”

He rested his forehead against hers and moved his hands to her waist. “Feyre, please. Just get on the damn boat.”  
  


“No.”

He opened his mouth to protest some more when they were both interrupted by someone standing nearby.

“Yes.”

They turned to find Tamlin watching them, his hair messy as if he had been running his hands through it and his eyes dark as he took in their position. Feyre felt Rhys tense so she laid her hand against his arm and growled at Tamlin.

“I don’t want to see you. Leave us be.”

He chuckled and stepped forward, ignoring the crying mothers and fathers around them. “Feyre, you get on that boat and I’ll take Rhys to the boat that’s boarding men only. I’ve paid someone to save some seats. It will all work out. The last thing I want is to see you unhappy.”

Feyre hesitated and looked at Rhys with worry. She didn’t know if she should trust Tamlin, especially after all he had done, but any chance of getting Rhys to safety made her hopeful.

“Go,” Rhys said, nudging her towards the boat. “I’ll see you after all of this is over, I promise.”

She reached up and pulled his head down so she could kiss him, not gently, but hard and with as much passion as she could put into it. She didn’t care who was watching, only that Rhys was in her arms and she would have to let go.

* * *

_“These are amazing, Feyre,” Rhys murmured as he looked over a few of her sketches. She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face in result. She never got to show anyone her sketches, or at least no one who would appreciate them._

_“They’re messy, but they keep me busy…” She trailed off, looking around the suite Tamlin had managed to get them. “And distracted.”_

_Rhys looked up with a cocked eyebrow and rested the book of sketches on one of the small tables around the room. “Distracted from what? If you don’t mind me asking.”_

_Feyre had told Rhys about Tamlin in the time they had been together, but he didn’t know anything other than the fact that he was her husband and she didn’t love him. Just thinking about him made her want to flip the table over that stood in front of her._

_“Tamlin and I have never gotten along,” she started, taking a seat on the couch. Rhys followed and took up the space next to her, listening patiently._

_“My parents were the ones who arranged our marriage, so I never got to fall in love with anyone on my own.” She kept her eyes on the floor as she spoke. “Every time I do something it’s wrong to him. Every time I paint he calls me a disgrace or a slob because, according to him, there are better ways to spend my time than with meaningless hobbies like art. He makes me wear fancy dresses everywhere and his friends act the same way around me so it’s like I have no freedom whatsoever.”_

_Rhys leaned over and took her hand in his, squeezing. When she turned to look into his eyes, she found the same light that had been there the first time they met, four days ago. It shocked her how quickly Rhys had made it into her life. He had been on her mind the entire trip so far, and when they managed to sneak away to see each other during random hours of the day, her feelings for him only grew._

_The feelings she had for him scared her, but they also made her anxious._

_“Rhys,” she whispered, eyes scanning over his face. “The only time I’ve ever felt free is when I’m with you.”_

_His breath hitched and his eyes widened, but he smiled. Seeing that smile made the hole in her heart feel complete, like he was the missing piece she had always needed. She knew she was insane for letting her feelings run wild like this, after only knowing him for a few days, but once the ship docked…_

_No, she wouldn’t think about what would happen then. For now, she moved her gaze down to his lips and, before she could lose her courage, leaned forward to kiss him._

_She was worried that he would not respond at first, but his hands quickly wove into her hair and his lips moved against hers. Tamlin would be gone for another hour or so, off to dinner with Lucien and Ianthe, and Feyre planned on using that time wisely._

_She wrapped her arms around Rhys’s neck and pushed him against the couch until he was laying down with her hovering above him. Their eyes met for a moment, both of them still, but when Feyre’s hands played with the buttons of his shirt he leaned up to capture her lips once more._

_They remained on the couch kissing until both their clothes had made it to the floor, until they were both panting against the others skin._

_Once they had drilled some time later, Rhys drew back to look at her. Her breathing was calm and her eyes were radiant._

_“I love you,” he breathed, resting his head against her bare shoulder. “And I know it is a crazy thing to say because I’ve only known you for four days, but…I really do, Feyre. I love you.”_

_Her smile widened and her heart raced at his words. She had convinced herself that she was the only one who felt that way, but hearing it from him made her want to squeal in joy._

_“I love you, too,” she whispered, dragging a lazy hand through his hair. “And I will continue to love you no matter what anyone says.”_

_When they were fully dressed again Rhys took Feyre’s hand and guided her out to the top deck of the ship where the stars were shining brightly. However, neither of them were expecting to find the ship headed directly at an iceberg._

* * *

Feyre boarded the lifeboat with hesitation, trying not to be shoved over the edge by other desperate women and children. She didn’t look away from Rhys for one second in fear that she would lose sight of him in the crowd. Tamlin stood nearby, but she didn’t bother glancing at him.

“Put it down!” The dock worker yelled, and the small boat started to slowly descend. Rhys was smiling faintly as he watched her, eyes filled with love and hope. Already she missed his touch, his warmth, but she would see him again. She had to.

For a split second, she turned her gaze to Tamlin who’s face showed nothing but rage and worry as he took in Rhysand standing beside him. In that moment, Feyre decided that she hated him for everything he had ever done to her, every bruise and every hateful word.

The lifeboat continued to lower until it was level with the dining hall decks, and a thought ran through Feyre’s mind, even as she stared up at Rhys.

What the hell am I doing?

She furrowed her brows, and Rhys rose one of his as he saw her face change. Without warning or a second thought, she sprung up from her seat and started to shove her way passed the other people on the small boat, tears streaming down her face. The dock worker on the boat was ordering her to stop but she wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in the way of what she wanted.

Rhys was screaming her name but she didn’t listen as she crawled the final few feet and landed back on the ship with a loud thud. She could still hear Rhys calling her but she ran through the crowds of people, shoving her way into the first class dining hall. She hoped she would be able to find him in this mess, but she didn’t have to worry for long.

Rhys appeared at the top of the grand staircase and he showed no hesitation as he sprinted toward her, nearly face planting into the marble floor. Feyre ran to him and they collided in a heap of sobs.

“What are you doing?” He asked, tears streaming down his cheeks. She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him tighter, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I couldn’t leave you. There’s no one on this ship or this planet who could convince me to do that.”

He released a sob and surged forward to claim her lips with his. The kiss was hard and wanting but she returned the passion. She forgot about everything around them, about Tamlin and Lucien and Ianthe. She forgot about everything…until a wave of cold water hit her feet.

Rhys pulled away with a gasp, and then a look of pure horror crossed his face as he took in the room around them. Feyre looked around as well and quickly grabbed Rhys’s hand, afraid of ever letting him go again.

The entire dining hall was being engulfed by water, and they were right in the middle of it.

“Rhys, what—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish as he pulled them across the room to one of the windows facing the back of the ship. She started to protest when he let go of her hand, but her eyes widened in shock as he picked up a chair and threw it at the window.

Around them, tables started to slide to the other end of the ship as it tilted and she could feel herself starting to sway more to the right.

Glass shattered and landed in the water that now reached their calves as Rhys broke the window and glanced back at her quickly.

“We need to get to the back of the ship. The front is going to go down first,” he rushed to say, taking her hand again so he could lift her up and guide her through the now broken window. He swiftly followed, teeth chattering against the cold air, and pulled her along.

They managed to make it a few yards before Feyre started to slip, dragging Rhys with her. The entire ship was beginning to tilt forward making people slide down the decks and into the waiting ocean.

“Rhys!” Feyre screamed, not letting go of his hand for a second. He yelled in pain as he took hold of a railing and pulled her body up to his. People in life jackets were sliding passed them and landing towards the front of the ship which was now completely engulfed by the water.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised, despite the look of hopelessness in his eyes. She nodded because she couldn’t form words. Her mouth was shaking both from fear and from the cold air.

“We’re going to drown,” she whispered, a single tear sliding down her already wet cheeks. Rhys kissed it away and she looked up at him as he started to speak.

“No. We will not drown, Feyre, do you hear me?”

She opened her mouth to speak, when a loud cracking sound filled the air around them. She furrowed her brows and looked around, hoping it was another ship finally coming to save them, but instead when she looked down she panicked.

The center of the ship was splitting in half, people falling between the floorboard as they broke apart. Her eyes widened and Rhys fumbled to climb over the railing he was holding onto while not letting go of her body.

“What are you doing?” She asked, clutching onto him tightly. He pushed her up so she could reach out a hand and grab the railing too, teeth still chattering.

“We need to get on the other side or we’ll go down with the ship,” he said, lifting himself up and throwing his body to the other side of the railing. He only had a few inches of space to stand before he would fall into the sea.

He grabbed Feyre’s hand and started to pull her up as the ship continued to tilt. She tried not to look down, but just like that first night onboard, curiosity got the best of her.

The whole ship was almost vertical, and Rhys pulled her the rest of the way over the railing and into his arms just as the center of the ship completely split in half. The backside of it—the part that she and Rhys were on—went flying down.

“Hang on!” Rhys yelled, and Feyre hugged him so tight that she thought she would kill him from the force. The ship crashed against the surface of the water and Feyre screamed as she saw the front half submerge itself below. Her rooms, her sketches…it was all gone now.

“We have to jump,” Rhys murmured, looking around frantically. Feyre whirled to face him and shook her head.

“Rhys, we can’t—”

“We have to. This part of the ship is going to go under any minute now and if we don’t get away it will suck us underwater with it.” His violet eyes met hers. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded. “Of course I do.”

He looked out below them at the crowds of people swimming away from the ship. Soon that would be them, and soon they might get to a lifeboat.

If the cold water didn’t freeze them first.

* * *

_“What the hell?”_

_Rhys tightened his grip on Feyre’s hand as they took in the sight before them. The iceberg towered over the ship and they swayed, stumbling to keep their balance, as the ship made a sharp turn to the left._

_They looked at the front of the ship as it slowly started to turn, and hope bloomed in Feyre’s chest as it began to move out of the way. That hope quickly dissipated though as the iceberg made contact with the right side of the ship._

_A loud screeching noise filled the air as the ice slid against the side of the ship. Rhys and Feyre tumbled to the ground and the entire boat shook with the impact._

_“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, panic rising in her as she looked around at all of the chunks of ice that landed on the deck. The ship stopped shaking and, hesitantly, Rhys rose to his feet beside her._

_“It means nothing,” he started, pulling her up to stand beside him. “The ship is unsinkable.”_   
  


_She nodded and looked up at him. Worry lined his features but when his eyes met hers he grinned and pulled her closer._

_“I think I can officially say that this has been the best night of my life,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the skin just below her ear. Her hands fisted in his shirt and she turned her head to kiss him._

_“I agree,” she whispered against his lips. “Besides that iceberg.”_

_They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed again, this time deeper. Feyre’s hands found their way into his dark hair and she tugged slightly, earning a low growl from him. She felt like they were the only two people in the world…until someone coughed._

_They broke apart and when Feyre turned to see who had interrupted them, she froze and instantly went light-headed._

_“Get your filthy hands off of my wife,” Tamlin growled and he didn’t give Rhys time to grab Feyre as he ripped her out of his grasp and into his arms._

_“No,” she protested, trying to pull away desperately. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she saw Lucien standing by, watching the exchange with a straight face._

_“Tamlin, let go of me!” She yelled, kicking his legs and scratching his chest. He didn’t budge, and when she turned to look for Rhys she saw some of Tamlin’s assistants holding him back. He was watching Tamlin with a cold stare that promised nothing but trouble._

_“Take him out of my sight,” Tamlin growled, and Feyre screamed and watched as they dragged Rhys across the deck and into the waiting ship. He was calling her name, but she could no longer hear him._

_“You bastard!” She yelled, slapping him repeatedly. Finally, Tamlin had enough and he roughly pushed her to the ground. She turned to face him just as his hand collided with her cheek. She was sure it would leave a bruise later on._

_“How dare you embarrass me like that! He is third class filth!” He was drawing the attention of some of the dock workers stationed on the balcony above them, but none of them made any move to stop what was happening._

_“I love him,” Feyre whispered, and she didn’t care if she looked weak as Tamlin hauled her up against him and made his way inside._

_“You love no one but me,” he muttered in her ear, and she cringed._

_He managed to get her to their room when a dock worker came by and asked to speak with Tamlin. He nodded and shoved her inside, closing the door so she couldn’t get out._

_Feyre was not a pet. She was not a doll and she belonged to no one._

_She looked around until her eyes landed on the window looking out over the first class deck. It was two stories up, but if she made the jump she would be able to somehow get to Rhys. She figured they’d taken him to the third class floors and locked him up somewhere._

_Muffled voices sounded from the hallway and she quickly pushed a chair over and broke off the leg. It took her a few tries but once she had it, she smashed the window, shattering the glass and creating an opening. Dropping the chair leg, she hopped outside and looked at the drop._

_“Feyre!”_

_Her head snapped up and she saw Tamlin crossing the room to get to her. With only a second to think things through, she let go of the window and jumped to the decks below. She tumbled against the floor but quickly got to her feet and glanced up at Tamlin._

_“Get back here!” He yelled, but she knew he wouldn’t jump. No, he was too chicken to do that. Rhys had taught her that she was strong, and she was determined to find him._

_With one last glance at Tamlin, she lifted a single finger at him which had him screaming at her more, before disappearing inside the ship and searching for Rhys._

* * *

When Feyre and Rhys jumped, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She knew the water would be cold and the waves would make it difficult to swim, but when they hit the surface, she realized she was very far off.

The water was beyond cold, and the second her body was submerged she thought she would freeze then and there. Rhys was treading water beside her and he grabbed onto the sleeve of her dress to move her.

“This way,” he called over the sounds of screaming. The water around them was so crowded that she could barely see where she was going. She was kicked and shoved but Rhys kept his grip on her as he maneuvered through the crowd.

Looking back, Feyre gasped at the sight of the Titanic. The entire back half was sticking straight up out of the water, the front of the ship now deserted at the bottom of the Atlantic. Before her eyes, the ship started to go under, keeping itself straight up the whole time.

“Rhys!” She screamed, and he turned to look at her but his gaze moved to the ship. She hadn’t completely understood what he meant when he said the ship would suck them under, but the moment the water started to engulf it, her feet felt like they were being pulled with it.

“Feyre!”

Her body was being pulled underwater with the ship, and she kicked for her life, Rhys’s hand still holding onto her sleeve. He was starting to go under as well, but he kicked and pulled them as far away as possible.

Her shoes slipped off of her feet and she gasped as the tug began to worsen. She glanced over her shoulder once more, and watched as the Titanic disappeared into the ocean.

“It’s gone,” she whispered hoarsely, and Rhys pulled her with him.

People around her were being sucked under water, never resurfacing, and Feyre started to scream until Rhys pushed her in front of him and she saw a large piece of wood floating on the water.

“Get on,” he ordered, pushing her up. She grabbed onto the wet surface and pulled herself up until she was fully seated on the door. Rhys started to climb up as well but it tilted too much and she started to slide off. With a worried groan, Rhys released the wood and started to float next to her, taking both hands in his.

“The boats are going to come back,” he said. “It will be alright.”

Feyre was shaking uncontrollably as she watched his beautiful face. Everything that had happened seemed surreal, but the only real thing she knew was Rhys.

“I love you,” she murmured, kissing his knuckles. He shook his head in disapproval.

“No. D-don’t start saying goodbyes. N-not yet.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. She wasn’t sure what would happen to them in the next few minutes or even hours. But she was sure of one thing, and that was the fact that Rhys had saved her life in more ways than one, and she would never let him go.

The Titanic was gone, and on it she had met the most amazing man of her life.

She opened her eyes and looked at Rhys’s violet ones. They were now warm, and a faint smile graced his lips as they heard whistles blowing in the distance. Maybe they were hearing things because they were so cold and exhausted, or maybe the boats had really come back to save them.

Either way, Feyre knew it was **a gift. All of it**


	10. 2017 AD — PRESENT TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wonderful (yes, wonderful Katie!) was written by @fiery-feyre . I was so excited to do this and I knew I had to ask her because apart from being one of the nicest people in here, she’s incredibly talented and has amazing stories!! Thank you all for going on this journey that has been the collab!!

**_“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”_   
**

* * *

_EARLIER THAT DAY_

“Elain, are you sure that we should go on this double date? I mean, we don’t even know these guys. You know, the internet can be a scary place, and these two men could be–”

“Oh, hush up, Feyre. Why are you suddenly preaching Dad’s opinions when you’ve disobeyed it for years? Don’t you have internet friends anyway? Isn’t your best friend an internet friend? What’s their screen name…LordofDay or something like that?” Elain counters, a laugh filling her voice as she speaks. 

Feyre grumbles, “No, that’s not even close to it.”

“Then what is it, Oh Queen of The Internet?” Elain questions, grabbing the lip gloss from the sink so she can put it on. 

“Well, you won’t get it. It’s for this fandom we’re in, and you just wouldn’t understan–”

“No, tell me about it. Please?” Elain begs, even going as far to give a pout in Feyre’s direction. 

“Okay, okay. So, the fandom is for this story based on Illyrian mythology. The series is called The Dark Furies, with book one being The Acropolis. It’s a really interesting series, and I love the main character Flara. She can control fire–obviously–and falls in love Prince Garrett, heir to Night. Flara later learns she is the Queen to Day. The prince and soon-to-be queen join forces to potentially take down Luza, the Queen-Regent of Day, who has turned Day into a corrupted kingdom.”

“You know, Feyre,” Elain says, touching up some of her make up, “that sounds really interesting. I’d love to read it. If you would lend me your copy, of course.”

“Elain, of course I will! I’m so glad you want to read it!”

“However, I will only read it if you go on this date with me. Please, sister?”

Mumbling, Feyre looks at her sister, “Fine, I’ll go on this date with you. Now, tell me about the guys.”

“Well, my date is named Azriel…”

* * *

“Her name is Feyre, Rhys. Elain’s told me all about her, and I think she’ll be the one for you,” Azriel says, looking at his friend, who is laying on the king-sized bed. “Feyre is, supposedly, an artistic girl. She’s in the same fandom as you, Elain says. You’ll finally have someone to talk about all your stuff with.”

“That makes me even more excited for this date. Thanks for allowing me to go with you, Az,” Rhys replies, doing a quick look in the mirror to make sure he was presentable. “Do you think Cassian would’ve wanted to go instead?”

“Probably. But, I don’t think he would have made a good boyfriend-material impression on her. Even more, you’ve been looking for someone for a while now.” Azriel grabs both their coats off the floor, then hands Rhys’ his. “Ready to go?”

Shoving his coat on, Rhys walks out the door, with Azriel trailing behind him. “Which car are we taking again?”

“Mine, Rhys. We’re taking mine.” 

* * *

“How do I look?” 

Looking up from her phone, Feyre looks at her older sister. Elain is wearing a plain sunset pink dress that fans out at her hips and stops at her knees. “You look beautiful, Elain.”

“Your turn!” Elain sings, grabbing Feyre by the hand, and dragging her to the walk-in closet. “I’m sure you’ll find something that you’ll fit into.”

“I thought I looked fine already.”

“You do, but I found this dress that I think will look gorgeous on you. So, I have it hung up in the back for you. If you like it, that is.” Elain closes the doors then, leaving Feyre trapped in the pink and white closet. 

Reluctantly, she turns around, to find a gorgeous [navy blue dress](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fae01.alicdn.com%2Fkf%2FHTB1NoFcQFXXXXaHXFXXq6xXFXXXC%2FAsymmetrical-Hollow-Lace-font-b-Navy-b-font-font-b-Blue-b-font-Evening-font-b.jpg&t=NTNmNDNmZTk2ZTVmOTFlNTZlYTE2ZDJhZjljYWI5YWEwM2ZlZjQ1NyxpazVmRWw3dg%3D%3D&b=t%3Apgia6-p7onIAKLctIE8dqA&p=https%3A%2F%2Feternally-reading.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172143359996%2Falways-and-forever-x&m=1) hanging on the back wall. The dress stops at her knees, but grows longer as it goes towards her back. 

Putting it on, Feyre finds it comfortable. The long sleeves will add some warmth for the night. Completing the look, Feyre puts on some black heels, and walks out of the closet. “Do I look okay?”

“Feyre, you look gorgeous! I knew I picked the right dress,” Elain congratulates herself, walking up to her sister to do some finalizing on her hair. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

* * *

PaintingDreams: Hey~

LordofNight: Hey, darling. You’ve been busy today, I guess?

PaintingDreams: I’m on my way to a double date with my sister. My date likes The Dark Furies, though. That might make it better

LordofNight: Really? I’m on my way to a date as well. My date likes the books, too. 

PaintingDreams: That’s awesome! I know you’ve been looking for a girlfriend for a while. Well, I have to go. Good luck with your date. 

LordofNight: Same to you. 

* * *

“Reservations for Elain and Azriel, please?” 

“Of course, ma’am. Right this way.”

The restaurant reminds Feyre of the restaurant in The Fault in Our Stars. Pretty, but not overwhelming with decoration. 

“Thank you, sir,” Elain says as the waiter pulls out Elain’s seat. He does the same for Feyre, and she thanks him in kind. 

“Would either of you like to order your drinks, or shall I hold off until your dates arrive?” The waiter asks, reaching into his apron for his notepad. 

“I’ll take water. Feyre?” Elain turns to Feyre, who just nods her head. “And, she will take a water as well. Thank you.”

“It is no trouble at all, miss. If you will excuse me, I will go retrieve some menus for you both.”

He walks away, and Feyre looks at the white roses that are on the table. Nervously, Elain questions, “I hope this goes well. Do you think it will go well?”

“Yes, I think it will. For one of us, or both of us. Hopefully both.”

“Okay, that’s–”

Placing the water in front of the women, the waiter introduces, “Here are your waters and dates, madams.”

Once everyone is situated, the waiter places down some menus, and excuses himself. At this point, Feyre and Elain are able to look at their dates properly. Azriel, Elain’s date, is beautiful. With shoulder length, raven black hair, and hazel eyes that sparkle in the restaurant’s candlelight, he’s definitely a catch. Elain can only hope he has a good personality like the one he had when they talked over the dating app. 

Feyre’s date, Rhys, is handsome, with midnight black hair and gorgeous violet eyes. Whenever he smiles, Feyre notices, he has dimples, which she finds adorable. His eyes also crinkle up a little when he smiles, also, which make his violet eyes twinkle and sparkle in the candlelight. 

Conversation sparks up easily between Feyre and Rhys, while Elain and Azriel awkwardly stare at each other and make small talk. Rhys can hardly believe how smooth the conversation is flowing between him and his date, seeing as his last few dates didn’t end up going so well from the beginning.

Mostly, they talk about The Dark Furies, but, slowly, Feyre and Rhys move from that topic to others, such as favorite movies, colors, and hobbies. 

“You really liked that movie? What about the book its based on?” Feyre inquires, sipping some of her water, which needs another refill. 

“If I’m being honest,” Rhys begins, “I liked the movie more than the book. The book was just too slow for me. Although the movie did leave out some crucial details, I was able to like it a lot more since it was better paced.”

“I guess I can agree with the pacing, but the characters made up for it, for me anyway.”

Though the conversation is lively, it soon dies out because Feyre needs to use the restaurant. Elain gets up with her, leaving the men to talk to each other. 

“So, do you like Elain?” Rhys asks, picking up the bill that the waiter has brought over. He and Azriel grab some money from their pockets, and lay it down. 

“I think I want to go on a second date with her,” Azriel replies, watching the waiter hurriedly pick up the bill before either of the men can change their mind. 

Suddenly, Rhys’ phone goes off. It’s a message from his internet friend. 

Paintingdreams: How’s your date going?

LordofNight: Really well. It’s almost over though. I think I’m going to ask her out again. How’s yours?

Paintingdreams: Go for it! And, mine went amazing. My date was very charming and sweet. I think I want to ask him out for a second date.

LordofNight: That’s great. I hope he accepts.*

*Error: message failed to send

Rhys sighs, then looks up to see the ladies returning. Pressing the message to retry and send, Rhys picks up his coat and wallet, while Azriel grabs his stuff. Feyre and Elain both grab their own things, and they walk out of the restaurant. 

Feyre’s phone pings, and she looks down at it. Smiling happily, she responds to it. Even though it’s wrong, Rhys’ curiosity makes him peak over Feyre’s shoulder. And what he finds…is not what he expected. 

It’s a conversation between her and him. Between Paintingdreams and LordofNight. How is Rhys going to talk to her about this? This is crazy. And super lucky. 

* * *

“Hey, Elain, can I talk to you for a second?” Azriel inquires, looking down at the brunette. Her eyes brighten at the question, and she nods her head. 

Pulling her away from his friend and her sister, Elain asks, “What’d you need?”

“Well,” Azriel starts, breaths, then begins again. “Well, I was wondering if you would want to go on a second date with me?”

“I would love to, Azriel,” Elain cheers, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for such a nice night out, also.”

“Yeah, uh, no problem.” Azriel rubs his cheek as he watches Elain walk to her car. Looking over to his friend, he sees Rhys and Feyre talking, quietly and seriously, about something. Choosing to not spy on them, he goes to his car as well and gets ready to leave. 

* * *

“Hey, uh, Feyre,” Rhys begins awkwardly, resting a hand on her shoulder. Looking up from her phone, Feyre makes a ‘hmm?’ sound, making Rhys continue. “So, I may have looked at your text messages while you were texting, and I saw that you were texting me.”

“I don’t even have your number,” Feyre starts, her hands going to her phone. 

Rhys takes out his phone, unlocks it, and then shows Feyre the messages. “Here, let me show you.”

“Well then, I guess I can say this…” Taking a hand off her phone, Feyre puts it on Rhys’ larger one, and says, “ **There you are, I’ve been looking for you**.”

“You did say that once we met you would say that,” Rhys laughs, a smile playing on his face, dimpling his cheeks. “So, how was meeting me?”

“It was wonderful, Lord of Night,” Feyre smiles back, a rosy color painting her cheeks. 

“That’s wonderful, darling. Hey, I now have a new nickname for you. Feyre, darling. Sounds lovely, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

As both of them laugh, Rhys stares at his date’s beauty and smiles. Quietly, Rhys whispers, “You certainly do know how to paint dreams.”

And it really was a dream. 

And  **a gift, all of it.**

**Author's Note:**

> Written by me (@eternally-reading on Tumblr). I will tag the co-creators of the collab on Tumblr


End file.
